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TOLSTOY 



THE MAN 



A 



By EDWARD A. STEINER 



ILLUSTKATED 




NEW YORK 

THE OUTLOOK COMPANY 

1904 



j 

BC Received 

FEB 20 1904 

; Copyright £,.try 
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COPYRIGHT 1903 BY THE OUTLOOK COMPANY 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published March 1Q04 



• • a «- 



2DeUication 

" Marriage is an elevation for such as we." — Tolstoy 

TO HER WHO HAS MADE THIS TRUE IN MY OWN LIFE, WHO 
HAS GLORIFIED FOR ME WOMANHOOD, WIFEHOOD, AND 
MOTHERHOOD, WHO HAS BEEN MY PATIENT HELP- 
MEET IN ALL OF LIFE'S TASKS, THIS BOOK, 
WHICH IS ONE OF THEM, IS DEDI- 
CATED IN GRATEFUL 
LOVE 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

The author of "Tolstoy the Man," Dr. Edward 
A. Steiner, who occupies the professorship of Ap- 
plied Christianity in Iowa College, spent several 
months in Russia at the request of The Outlook 
Company and under its commission for the ex- 
press purpose of obtaining material for this book. 
As appears in his opening chapter, he renewed at 
Yasnaya Polyana, Tolstoy's residence, an acquaint- 
ance begun many years ago. Dr. Steiner not 
only had the opportunity of getting close to the 
personal and individual side of his subject and 
of discussing with the great Russian writer and 
teacher his life and work, he brings also to his 
task a study and appreciation of Tolstoy's char- 
acter and theories extending over a long period. 
He talked with Tolstoy's intimate friends and 
admirers, was shown many letters throwing new 
light on Tolstoy's doctrines and practice, gath- 
ered from newspapers and books, accessible only 

vii 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

in Russia, a fund of valuable facts, visited 
Moscow to get acquainted with the "Tolstoy cir- 
cle" there, and in short used every effort to ob- 
tain all available material for an authentic and 
vivid memoir. It need hardly be pointed out that 
the personality of Tolstoy is of intense interest 
the world over, and this without regard to the 
question whether readers do or do not accept in 
full his social teachings. The many incidents and 
anecdotes here first published cannot fail to add 
to the world's knowledge of " Tolstoy the Man." 
The illustrations in the book are in part the work 
of the brilliant young Russian artist Pasternak, 
an enthusiastic admirer of Tolstoy, who has en- 
joyed a close intimacy with him and has painted 
him repeatedly as he appears in the family cir- 
cle. 

The Publishers. 



Vlll 



PREFACE 

The monotonous plain through which the Dnyper 
winds its way seaward is the cradle of the 
Slavic race. The physical character of this vast 
stretch, with its uninteresting moor and marsh, 
has impressed itself upon all the members of 
this widely scattered family ; but especially upon 
the Russian, who is to-day its largest and most 
important member. From the lowest mujik to 
the highest dignitary, racial characteristics 
remain the same ; and beneath much apparent 
change which wealth and culture have wrought, 
there is among all classes the unmistakable 
Slavic element. The national temperament is 
undisturbed by great passions, just as that 
cradle land is free from sudden mountain 
heights or vast depressions. Not unlike the 
land is also its history, which records no grand 
heroic movements in its early days. Without 
song or story the past lies deeply buried ; and 

ix 



PREFACE 

although the present division of the Slavic peo- 
ple was not completed earlier than the seventh 
century, history is silent, because no doubt there 
was nothing to tell. They were at first peaceful 
hunters, and after exchanging the bow and 
spear for the spade, they became warriors only 
when pressed to the fight. The later history 
of the Slavic tribes which were surrounded or 
subjugated by other races is tumultuous enough ; 
but in spite of the invasion of Mongol, of Swedes, 
and of the French, the inner quiet of Russia 
remained unbroken. The heart of this country 
is like that of the ocean, — unstirred by passing 
storms, — although in Russia even the surface 
never rose above its appointed level Renaissance 
and Reformation alike, though they touched the 
life of Bohemia and manifested themselves among 
the Poles and Slovaks locked in among the cres- 
cent-shaped Carpathians, passed unnoticed over 
the parent nation, Russia. The Byzantine stamp 
which was pressed upon its soul became a leaden 
weight and the Church its prison-house, from 
which neither life nor light emanated. The Ro- 



PREFACE 

man Church, while professing ardently its immu- 
tability, has given birth, though in pain, to great 
men who ushered in new periods ; but the Greek 
Church remained barren. The masters of the 
Church — the czars, the fathers of these Russian 
children — were themselves like spoiled children 
to whom the people were playthings and the plow- 
men toys, such as the giant king's daughter (of 
whom Uhland sings) gathered in her apron and 
carried to her father's castle. 

To the Russian the nation is a family, over 
which rules the God-appointed czar, whose yoke 
is borne patiently and uncomplainingly. He alone 
is capable of removing the people's burdens, and 
what he can accomplish has been shown by Peter 
the Great and Alexander II., who by a few sen- 
tences ushered in new eras for their million- 
headed family. 

No one was born from among the people whose 
voice or hand was strong enough to rouse the na- 
tion from its lethargy or to make the way straight 
for the coming of some greater one. True, Russia 
gave birth to singers who struck many a brave 

xi 



PREFACE 

note, but were either lured, like Pushkin, into 
some gilded cage, or died in exile, mute even in 
their last agony ; others were stimulated and in- 
spired by those vast movements which changed 
the political and social life of Western Europe 
and gave birth to a new nation across the sea ; 
but they had no standing ground, no institu- 
tion or band of men, — nothing to strengthen 
new-born thoughts, — and their voices died 
faintly away. It was thus with all the Western 
culture, which, in spite of passport regulations 
and rigid censorship, entered Russia ; for it was 
in such great contrast to all which the State, 
the Church, and society tolerated that it was 
repelled everywhere, and had no brooding-place 
except among revolutionists, where it exploded, 
rather than grew, into maturity. 

It is true that the Russian of the upper class 
is steeped in Western culture ; but it is also true 
that in a large measure he has been able to get 
only its surface ; that part of it which he found 
on the boulevards of Paris, on the pages of the 
inoffensive ladies' journals, or in books which 

xii 



PREFACE 

escaped the censor's critical eye. Much of so- 
called Western culture came in with morally 
bankrupt tutors and governesses who tainted 
the atmosphere in which the aristocratic youth 
developed and matured. One finds everywhere 
genuine culture, and often more radical ideas 
than in the West of Europe ; but everything is 
unstable and unsteady, like isolated logs floating 
in the Volga, rather than like those which have 
been hewn, and fastened into a building. Out 
of this condition have grown startling contrasts 
between thinking and acting, knowing and 
believing, between a few who are learned and the 
vast mass of the ignorant, between those who 
live in excess and those who have not yet begun 
to live. This state of things makes the Russia 
of to-day an enigma; makes it, as Carl Emil 
Frangois says, "Half Asia/' neither Europe nor 
Asia. This makes it the land of the most revolu- 
tionary and the most reactionary ideas, makes 
its atmosphere stifling from suppressed silence, 
and vibrant from new-born thought. Some day 
there will be a page in the history of Russia on 

xiii 



PREFACE 

which will be written : " There was a man sent 
from God whose name was " — Tolstoy, — a man 
who was to break the prophetic silence of cen- 
turies, and who by plain speech and in utter self- 
f orgetf ulness was to " make straight the way of 
the Lord." His coming and his growing into such 
prominence were not the trick of genius, were 
not the striking of a golden vein which brought 
fame and wealth to the lucky finder, but were 
as truly an historic event as they were an "his- 
toric necessity." It is also true, as Eugen Schmidt 
says, "that Tolstoy did not come as a preacher 
of morals, as a proclaimer of a few ethical max- 
ims which were to change the current of men's 
lives, not as a man who wanted to be a good 
example, not, certainly, as a philanthropist 
who gave to every man who asked of him, not 
as a writer of realistic novels which were to 
curdle men's blood into coldness and decency; 
but he came as the proclaimer of a new philo- 
sophy of life ; a philosophy diametrically opposed 
to both the philosophy of the Church and of 
modern science, and 'in perfect harmony with 

xiv 



PREFACE 

the philosophy of Jesus/ according to his own 
words." 

Tolstoy's philosophy is not clear to others, 
although many say that it is a great light ; it 
is by nature both mystical and rationalistic, both 
conservative and radical ; it is both old and very 
new. While Tolstoy has grown out of conditions 
which exist in his native country, while in the 
largest measure he typifies the Russia of to-day 
in its growing contrasts, in its dissatisfaction with 
itself, in its spirit of cruel self-examination, and 
its religious nature and tendency, — he has a 
message for the world which he intends shall 
drive out a civilization based upon barbarism and 
cruelty; a philosophy of life which, as he sees it, 
is fundamentally opposed to the laws of nature, 
and a religion which has reduced God to the level 
of a Russian monarch, degraded the Saviour into 
a magician and the Bible into a fetish. He means 
to bring in a culture which shall be free from 
barbarism, a philosophy of life which shall be in 
harmony with the teachings of Jesus, and a reli- 
gion which shall answer the highest promptings 

XV 



PREFACE 

of the soul. He came providentially into Russia, 
to the Slavs, the least advanced of the civilized 
races, the least spoiled by modern culture ; he 
came without sword or staff, purse or scrip, the 
weakest among the czar's subjects, yet stronger 
than the czar ; and because he fights not with 
carnal weapons he is gaining victories for which 
generations might have bled in vain. 

Some people may read this book because they 
wish to see the man Tolstoy, colossal giant that 
he is ; and I shall try to draw him as I have seen 
him, and as he has impressed others who came 
to him in different moods and for other purposes. 
A smaller number will wish to find some key to 
his many writings, some brief account of their 
form, contents, and spirit, and I shall try to sat- 
isfy this demand ; the smallest number will come 
here to read about his philosophy and his mes- 
sage. This last desire, too, I shall try to fulfill, 
although it is the hardest of my tasks. The truth 
is, that to do justice to the life of this man, one 
must touch upon all these phases ; for they are 
part of his life. The man is in his books, and in 

xvi 



PREFACE 

every line of them is his philosophy ; one cannot 
separate them, and yet to present them together 
is a task before which a stronger one than my- 
self might tremble. But hard though the work 
may be, it is entered into with joy, because it 
brings the writer again in touch with one who is 
too great to be called friend, yet who is lowly 
enough to call himself brother. 

That I may not dim his glory, and yet not 
unduly exalt him, that I may not misrepresent 
him and yet truthfully present him to view, that 
I may satisfy the curious and yet bring them 
nearer to the source of the teachings of Tolstoy, 
which is the Gospel of Jesus, — is my only desire. 

My acknowledgments are due to Director 
Raphael Loewenf eld, of Berlin, who placed at my 
disposal his unsurpassed collection of Tolstoyana 
and who marked out the channels for obtaining 
new and valuable material both in St. Peters- 
burg and in Moscow; to Eugen Schmidt, of 
Buda-Pesth, who has systematized the teachings 
of Tolstoy in his remarkable book "The Cultural 
Mission of Tolstoy ; " to Mr. Pavel Ettinger and 

xvii 



PREFACE 

to various members of the editorial staff of the 
" Rusky Wyedomosty," of Moscow, and to many 
friends in various parts of Russia who have given 
me valuable advice and encouragement when both 
were needed ; above all, to Mr. George Kennan, 
who is gratefully remembered by all thoughtful 
Russians, regardless of their political creed, as 
"The Apostle of Russia's prison reform" and by 
whose thorough knowledge of Russia and Russian 
affairs this book has profited as well as by his 
generous and always correct criticism. 

e. a. a 

Moscow, March I, 1903. 



xvm 



CONTENTS 

I. TOLSTOY TO-DAY ........ I 

H. CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL LIFE ... 21 

HI. THE LANDED PROPRIETOR 45 

IV. THE CAUCASUS 56 

V. SEBASTOPOL 72 

VI. IN ST. PETERSBURG 88 

VII. TOLSTOY'S FIRST VISIT ABROAD . . . IOI 
Vm. TOLSTOY'S SECOND AND THIRD JOURNEYS 

ABROAD 114 

IX. TOLSTOY'S MARRIAGE AND FAMILY LIFE 135 
X. TOLSTOY AS PEDAGOGUE 1 54 

XI. "WAR AND PEACE" 172 

XII. "ANNA KARENESTA" 187 

XIII. TOLSTOY'S CONFESSION AND CONVER- 
SION 198 

XTV. THE LIFE AS AN INFLUENCE . . . .213 

XV. THE TEACHINGS OF TOLSTOY . . . .229 

XVI. THE MISUNDERSTOOD TOLSTOY . . .253 

xix 



CONTENTS 

XVII. TOLSTOY'S LITERARY ACTIVITIES AT 
THE CLOSE OF THE NINETEENTH 
CENTURY 274 

XVIII. TOLSTOY THE MAN 290 



xx 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

TOLSTOY AT WORK IN HIS STUDY Frontispiece 

TOLSTOY TO-DAY 1 8 

YASNAYA POLYANA 4° 

TOLSTOY PLOWING ON HIS FARM .... 62 

TOLSTOY'S HOME IN MOSCOW 84 

FROM THE STATION TO YASNAYA POLYANA 96 

COUNTESS TOLSTOY Il8 

LEO TOLSTOY, JR 140 

MARIA LEVOVNA 150 

TATYANA SEVORNA 178 

COUNT LEO TOLSTOY 200 

ENTRANCE TO YASNAYA POLYANA . . .236 
COUNT TOLSTOY AND HIS DISCIPLE AND FOL- 
LOWER THERKOW 248 

COUNTESS TOLSTOY AND THE YOUNGER CHIL- 
DREN . . 278 

A RECENT PORTRAIT 296 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

CHAPTER I 

TOLSTOY TO-DAY 

Twenty years ago there came into the rational- 
istic atmosphere of a German college the influ- 
ence of a Russian novel which meant much to 
a group of young men who had thought God out 
of existence and had buried Christianity with 
all other religious superstitions. While religion 
seemed dead around them, it still was living 
within them, and the call to an heroic expression 
of it in Tolstoy's " War and Peace " awakened 
long slumbering thoughts and new and vital 
desires. 

There must be something innate in human 
nature which sends men upon pilgrimages, for 
the first wish which the students expressed while 
the joy of the new-found truth had not yet spent 
itself, was to go to Moscow and see and hear 
the man who had saved them from losing a pre- 
cious possession, and who had given to them a 
new interpretation of life and of the Lifegiver. 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

The young men had time, but little money, so 
the journey had to be made on foot, the long, 
most interesting trip taking them through the 
heart of the Slavic world. When they knocked 
at the hospitable door of Count Tolstoy's house in 
Moscow they looked more like tramps than stu- 
dents, and the welcome from the servants and 
from some members of his family was such as 
to send the autumn chill of the unpicturesque 
entrance hall into their exalted feeling. When 
the Count himself opened the door of the living- 
room, where the samovar sang and the fire 
crackled while the smoke of cigarettes was thick 
and seductive, there came with him a warm air 
and a warmer welcome. He was in the prime of 
life, at the height of his literary fame in Russia, 
and the larger world was beginning to grow 
conscious of him. 

Our admiration of Tolstoy grew no less be- 
cause of our close contact with him, and the 
spell by which he enthralled us has remained 
a valued and abiding possession to some of us. 
Neither life nor death seemed the same thing 
afterwards, although our minds were too imma- 
ture fully to grasp his teaching and the life of 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

pleasure was too alluring to put it off for the 
life of labor. 

Three times this pilgrimage was made by me 
in maturer years, and each time the welcome 
was more cordial and the admission into Tolstoy's 
inner life more generous. These visits brought 
with them the privilege of meeting the men and 
women who see in Tolstoy not only an author 
and a famous man but their great teacher and 
the revealer of a new philosophy of life. 

The winter of 1903 was spent in close rela- 
tion with this circle, and while the bond with 
Tolstoy himself was less intimate, this was due 
to the fact that the news of his serious illness 
checked the desire of the artist and biographer 
to urge their presence upon him, and only after 
we heard that his condition had improved did 
we venture our request. " Come and bring N. 
with you," read the telegram which we received 
in answer to our letter. N. is a musician of note, 
and the feeling that through his playing Tolstoy 
would receive much pleasure made our going 
easier, for usually we felt that we gave nothing 
in return for the inspiration received. 

To start from Moscow at midnight, to be locked 

3 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

in a train whose compartments are so hot that 
they can well serve the purpose of a Russian 
bath, to inhale cigarette smoke which every- 
where makes the atmosphere stale and thick, is 
no great pleasure, especially as the train stops 
longer at the stations than it travels between 
them, and, being the only so-called fast train, is 
uncomfortably crowded. No air either enters or 
leaves the compartment, and when we reach 
our destination, and can really breathe the fresh, 
ozone-laden air, it is as exhilarating a moment 
as if we had stepped from a prison cell into 
freedom. The little depot is almost covered by 
snow, and after being wakened for a moment 
by the stopping of the train it sinks again into 
the deepest quiet. Here and there from among 
the white birches the rising smoke tells of some 
mujik's cabin in which the housewife has be- 
stirred herself and has kindled the fire. The 
horse and sleigh of Countess Tolstoy are await- 
ing us in the station yard, and almost simul- 
taneously we ask the coachman, " How is the 
Count ? " " Slava Bogu [Praise God], he is much 
better," answers the faithful servant, whose 
broad, good-natured face smiles at us from his 

4 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

wrappings of fur, which make him look like an 
overgrown infant ready to be carried away by 
its nurse. He remembers the Count's guests, and 
has a particular smile for those who know that 
Tolstoy's philosophy about money has not at all 
influenced his servants, who are just as eager 
for their tips (na tschay) as if they were living 
in the most materialistic atmosphere. Swiftly 
we glided along through the increasing quiet ; 
the noise of the passing train had almost ceased, 
and its deep breathing grew fainter and fainter. 
From the east a tinge of golden red poured over 
the silvery landscape ; for a moment there was 
a hovering between twilight and morning, then 
the sun rose, bringing light but no warmth, and 
the great conqueror who in the summer colors 
earth and skies in varied hue seemed unable to 
affect the mass of white or to change the great 
shroud into a wedding-garment. The noisy crows 
alone made dark spots upon the landscape and 
brought discord and disturbance into silence and 
harmony. No one in the village had yet stirred 
out of doors ; the peasants were still lying upon 
their warm bake-ovens hibernating until the 
spring-time, when the increasing hunger would 

5 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

drive them out of doors and press the plow into 
their hands. The snow lay up to the windows 
of the low cabins, which were kept from being 
lost in the colorless landscape by the dirt of 
doors and outer walls. Horses, cattle, and fowl 
were indoors with the peasants, and within many 
a hut was heard the faint cock-crow, followed 
by the grunting of an unfed pig or the hoof- 
beat of a restless horse. From above the snow, 
like strange -shaped mushrooms, peeped with 
their Chinese roofs the white towers flanking 
the gateway to the Tolstoy estate, and the trunks 
of the trees within made dark lines upon the 
whiteness, showing the well-worn road between 
them. At the door we were met by Maria Le- 
vovna, the Count's favorite daughter, who has 
been constantly at his bedside, and who at this 
time was acting as his private secretary and is 
his confidential friend. Among the Count's chil- 
dren the daughters had the greatest sympathy 
with his teachings, although since they have 
married they have gone the way of the world, 
much to his regret. 

When we arrived, Countess Tolstoy was still 
in her room ; she rises very late, her work keep- 

6 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ing her up until past midnight. She is now 
correcting a new edition of her husband's works, 
and between the struggle with publishers and 
proof-readers she is taxed to the utmost, al- 
though she preserves both her youth and strength 
to a remarkable degree. Any one who saw her 
a few evenings before at the symphony concert 
in Moscow, radiant in a light gray silk costume, 
her bright eyes shining from pleasure, would 
not have realized how much work and how many 
years are burdening her. 

We were immediately shown to our rooms, 
but great was our astonishment when we found 
one of them to be the Count's former study, 
which had been converted into a guest-room 
after his removal upstairs was necessitated by 
his severe illness. Mr. P. immediately called an 
indignation meeting to protest against such sac- 
rilege, and we unanimously declared our disap- 
proval of the change. The room should have 
been kept as it was. Those scattered books, that 
table full of loose pages of manuscript, the 
large ink-pot, the Count's picturesque but crude 
scythe, and his working garments — all are gone ; 
the books are transferred to book-cases, where 

7 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

they stand like soldiers in perfect order, and our 
unpoetic satchels lie upon the table where he 
wrote all the books which made him famous. 
Surely there will be no holy shrine to which en- 
thusiastic Tolstoyans may make a pilgrimage in 
after years, for the devastation seems complete. 
A physician who now is a member of the house- 
hold lives in the Count's former bedroom, but 
the simple furniture has been left just as it was. 
At the breakfast-table we find the usual con- 
tingent of strangers, and we look at one another 
in rather an unfriendly way, as much as to say, 
" What in the world brought you here to trouble 
a poor old sick man — can't you leave him alone?" 
We are good mind-readers, all of us, and we 
stare at each other during the informal meal, 
drinking our hot tea in silence ; and no friend- 
lier look comes over the faces of these some- 
bodies and nobodies when our party is asked to 
go upstairs to see the Count. The room which 
we enter is spacious and comfortable ; two large 
windows look out over the tree-tops and upon 
the silent fields of Yasnaya. The eye instinct- 
ively seeks the Count, and we are much star- 
tled as we see him. He is so thin that his features 

8 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

stand out with unusual sharpness. The eyes are 
still searching, but show the effect of much suf- 
fering, and a veil like the shadow of a passing 
cloud hangs over them. His voice, too, has grown 
weak, and his hand-clasp is like the touch of 
gloved fingers, without warmth or strength ; but 
the greeting is not less cordial than ever. Now, 
struggling with approaching death, he is fasten- 
ing upon paper memories and impressions of by- 
gone years, and when every moment is precious 
he yet denies himself to no one, and does not 
stint the time which he gives to his friends. It is 
such a large welcome as only a large soul can 
give one. It is in striking contrast to the wel- 
come which one receives from every other mem- 
ber of his household. Every one, from the Count- 
ess down to the guests of yesterday, makes you 
feel that you are here by grace alone, but he 
makes you feel immediately that you have done 
him a favor by. coming. It is this natural and 
grateful outflow of his noble soul toward another 
that charms every one who comes in touch with 
him. Yet I cannot say that one feels comfort- 
able so close to him. He searches too deeply. 
He penetrates down to the impurest motive 

9 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which brought you here, and you feel as if you 
were a thief caught in the act of breaking one 
of the commandments. I find that all those who 
come " in spirit and in truth " share this feeling 
with me, and I should not wonder if in the 
other world I see him sitting on one of those 
twelve thrones " judging the tribes of Israel." 

The conversation first turned upon his own 
health. He has been near death's door ; the 
heart almost ceased its task of sending blood 
through his body, the limbs were cold and mo- 
tionless, and around his bedside through many 
an anxious night stood loving watchers who 
feared the coming of a lightless morning. But 
no fear was his ; he was not being dragged to 
his grave. Calmly he awaited the moment of 
his departure, and he struggled neither for life 
nor with death. He dropped no pious phrases 
as he told us of his nearness to the other world ; 
it was the story of a traveler who came near 
to the gate of a city whose name and loca- 
tion he knew not, but of the existence of which 
he was quite sure. He did not tell as much 
of himself as we should have liked to hear; 
he quickly turned the conversation to the art- 

10 



_ *. 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ist's and writer's work and plans, to N.'s chil- 
dren, whom he loves, and to all the living things 
which interest him so much. The praise of Yas- 
naya's quiet he turned into a sarcastic denuncia- 
tion of the effort in the cities to build houses of 
entertainment for the laborers. " You take them 
out of the pure air into a place crowded by peo- 
ple, you compel them to breathe dust, dirt, and 
disease, and you call that helping the poor to 
enjoy themselves." My praise of the People's 
Palace in St. Petersburg, built by the present 
czar, found no echo in his heart. He does not 
believe in "throwing sweet morsels to a starv- 
ing peasantry/' although he was glad to hear of 
my observation of increasing temperance, or at 
least of a decrease of drunkenness, in the Rus- 
sian cities where the dives have been entirely 
closed and people's theaters and tea-houses have 
taken their places. 

Upon our inquisitive looks at his writing-desk, 
he told us that he was then hard at work writ- 
ing his reminiscences, and that he had finished 
a new story based upon his experiences in the 
Caucasus, and he read us page after page of the 
simple but beautiful narrative from his life in 

ii 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

those wild mountain regions. His style seems 
simpler than ever ; clear and sharp stand out 
his characters. The background is faint, scarcely- 
touched, but the men and women whom he por- 
trays are alive, and the truth they speak is clear 
and their words are pure. They are created by 
his love for all the men he met and knew in 
those young years of his eventful life. 

The manuscript is as unreadable as ever, and 
Maria Levovna had to be called upon to decipher 
those passages in which her father's pen had 
tangled the thought of the story by successive 
corrections. He was greatest and most precious 
when he laid down the manuscript and began to 
tell of his own feelings and emotions in those 
days. How little he spares himself ! he gathers 
up every scrap of the past, even if by so doing 
he tarnishes his halo ; but he tells truth and 
loves truth, even if truth makes him unlovely. 

We know now that the stories of his child- 
hood and youth which were the first products of 
his pen were not entirely autobiographical ; that, 
in fact, they contained much which, while it 
grew in him, he did not experience in actual 
life. He made us all laugh by telling the story 

12 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

of his first dancing-lesson. He was so ungrace- 
ful that the dancing-master tied a stick of wood 
to his legs to make them stand out straight. 
" I could make better use of that stick of wood 
now/' he said, pointing to his limbs, which were 
wrapped in a blanket. "But I shall surprise 
you to-morrow. I shall go for a walk." 

After dinner, N. was asked to play. The poor 
musician was so nervous that he had scarcely 
eaten anything, and when he sat down to the 
piano he fairly trembled from stage fright. 
First on the programme were Tolstoy's old fa- 
vorites, Gliick, Brahms, and Handel. " They are 
so quiet," he says ; " their passion was lofty and 
never base." Mozart came next, and charmed 
him most, for he loves him above all the com- 
posers. He never stirs the evil and the low 
within us," he says of him; "and when he 
touches the emotions, he does it with delicacy 
and purity." Chopin Tolstoy enjoys very much, 
and among Slavic composers he finds him the 
most sympathetic. During the playing of one of 
Beethoven's sonatas he grew visibly agitated ; 
and that much-condemned "Kreutzer Sonata" he 
heard with pleasure. Schumann's songs brought 

13 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

tears to his eyes. " It touched my heart so/' he 
said, in excuse for his seeming weakness. 

What a rapt listener he is, this iconoclast of 
art ! how every fiber of his being responds to it, 
how he draws it in and how it intoxicates him ! 
He knows, as did the Hebrew prophets, how art 
itself may become man's temple and his God, 
and he fights against his natural devotion to it, 
fearing that it might lure him from the narrow 
path which he has marked out for himself. 

Long after the piano has echoed its last vibrant 
note we sit in silence and muse. The snowflakes 
fall thick and fast upon the already heavy-laden 
tree-tops, and it is winter without and within. 
The Count sits with his head sunk over his breast, 
the fingers of both hands pressed against each 
other, and tears in his eyes. Schumann's "Du 
bist die Ruh " has brought them out of his heart. 
Quiet, quiet everywhere but in our hearts ; and 
is there quiet in his now that he is snowed in by 
old age and feels the approach of death ? With 
peace upon his brow, there is also much pain, 
and such furrows seam his face as no other plow- 
man draws but he who comes with labor and 
with tears. The glow of artistic success, the 

14 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

gratitude of those whom he has helped into the 
light, — these ought to make the evening of his 
pilgrimage glorious. Yet each life has its trage- 
dies, and those of us who know realize that he 
will carry to the yonder side some great sorrows. 
His tears are for a little boy, "Vantshek," as 
they called him, the only one of his thirteen chil- 
dren into whom seemed to have been breathed 
the same spirit by which he was filled by the 
Creator. The little one looked into the world 
with the same clear eyes as did his father, and 
clung to him conscious of that inner relation- 
ship, the kinship of the soul. He died. The hurt 
in the father's heart seemed healed ; but out of 
the treasure of song which Schumann gave to the 
world, and to which he listened that afternoon, 
there came one tenderest note and tore open the 
old bleeding wound. Strangers crowd his door- 
way asking his blessing, and go out into the world 
to live as he has taught them ; strangers listen 
with reverence to each one of his words and be- 
come his disciples ; but among his own there is 
none to preach his message or to live it. No com- 
plaint has ever passed his lips, and the tragedy 
of his heart has no witness except his own great 

15 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

soul, which has taught itself to love, and in love 
to suffer. 

His philosophy of life has not changed, his be- 
lief in the efficacy of Christ's law for the salva- 
tion of man and of society is as firm as ever, and 
his theological views have still the same agnostic 
ring ; but he knows God, prays to God, loves God, 
and truly "loves his neighbor as himself," and 
does not ask, " Who is my neighbor ? " It would 
belittle those great hours to tell all that he said 
and how he said it, to narrate his condemnations 
or write down what he approved. This was no 
day for a biographer to make notes or an artist 
to make sketches, but it was a day for men to 
look into the great heart of one of God's great 
men. 

Russia knows no spring. April is still only win- 
ter painted green, and then all at once it is sum- 
mer. Long, not over-straight furrows are being 
drawn upon the great fields which surround Yas- 
naya Polyana. Patient mujiks are led across the 
fertile acres by the more patient if not more in- 
telligent horses ; and where the wooden harrow 
has glided over the clods, women beat them into 

16 



^.»--^J ~-> .:-**J»-~J-^~t^ -> -J. >-_> --^»-,.^.»~t.>. < > --J ■■_> ->. - --?-■* .-- - >• ... ■ - 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

dust. A horseman comes from between the white- 
washed towers, and the peasants say one to 
another, "Praise God, it is our master." It is a 
long time since they have seen him, and a longer 
time since they have seen him on horseback. The 
rider of fast horses who renounced that luxury 
years ago, and walked many a hundred miles, 
had been lifted by servants into the saddle, as 
he had been lifted a few months ago from volun- 
tary hardship into involuntary ease. 

The aristocratic peasant has become an aristo- 
cratic invalid, and the man who struggled for 
years against the conditions in which he was born 
will die in the same conditions, a prisoner to en- 
vironment. He deplores it, mourns over it, and 
laments over an unreached ideal. He still envies 
the peasant, who, after a hard life, will lie down 
upon his bake-oven and die a happy death ; but 
as little as Tolstoy could live just like a peasant, 
so little can he die like one. If he had the strength, 
he would now, in spite of the commands and the 
entreaties of his physician and his wife, take the 
handle of the wooden plow and follow it across 
the fragrant upturned sod. I venture to say: 
" Count, you have done your plowing ; you have 

17 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

drawn a straighter furrow and a longer one right 
across Russia and into the heart of Europe and 
the New World ; " but the man who all his life 
has believed in his power of achievement shakes 
his head doubtfully as he views the work he has 
done. 

The sower follows the plowman and the women 
who beat the clods into dust. Majestically, rhyth- 
mically, and slowly he walks across the black, 
rich earth, casting his seed, more worshipful than 
the village priest who scatters incense for more 
or less holy purposes. The sower carries his seed 
in a white linen sheet which hangs from his shoul- 
der, and he thrusts his hand into it as does an 
artist his brush into his colors, or a generous man 
his fingers into his treasury. With wistful eyes 
Tolstoy follows his movements, quite unconscious 
of the fact that he has been sowing more precious 
seed upon larger fields ; but if you call his atten- 
tion to this, he will say, "The best of it was only 
chaff." Yet undisguised pleasure shows itself in 
his face when one speaks of his influence which 
has gone over the whole world. This very spring 
two American millionaires came, repeating the 
words of the rich young ruler and receiving the 

18 




Drawn bv L. Pasternak 



TOLSTOY TO-DAY 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

same answer, but not going " away sorrowful/ 7 
Each day brings tidings of new fields upon which 
the seed has fallen, each day brings some ripened 
fruit, some apostles, more disciples, admirers 
most of all. If you speak to him of this, he will 
answer, " Thus I know that His word is truth." 
Yet he envies the sower with his white sheet 
and his golden seed. "That man will die with 
nothing to regret and everything to expect," he 
says, and he would willingly change places with 
him immediately. "Why not?" he says to the 
astonished listener. " Is he not happier than the 
czar, or the emperor of Austria, or the kings of 
Saxony or Servia? Has he not a more guiltless 
conscience? Who in this world is to be envied 
if not he ? Has he not a saner philosophy than 
Nietzsche, has he not a loftier theology than the 
Metropolitan of Moscow, has he not a healthier 
enjoyment of art than Wagner, is he not in closer 
touch with nature than millions of the wealthy 
who lock themselves into fireproof cages and 
know nature only from the railroad cars and 
affection only from sentimental novels?" Such 
is the flow of his thought each day ; not so pessi- 
mistic as it sounds when coined into words, for 

19 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

hopefully and joyfully he is waiting for the har- 
vest, and although he will not again be able to 
thrust his sickle into the ripened grain, he be- 
lieves that " God 's in his heaven — all 's right with 
the world ! " 

He is really aged ; his form is bent, his step is 
slow, but his vision is not dimmed. He is young 
and vigorous in his condemnations, and younger 
still in those things which rejuvenate themselves 
each day, and which never fail — Faith, Hope, and 
Love. He is still Russia's greatest living writer, 
in spite of the new stars which have arisen — 
Gorky, Tschechoff, Andrejeff. He is still the one 
bold, unmuffled voice which protests against the 
wrongs perpetrated by state and church, by czar, 
priest, and populace. His name is still the pass- 
word which leads into the homes and hearts of 
all the lovers of freedom and believers in the law 
of Christ, but all he desires is to remain one of 
the Master's humblest disciples "even unto the 
end." 



20 



CHAPTER II 

CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL LIFE 

All Slavic villages are alike in their unpictur- 
esqueness. Draw one broad street flanked by 
straw-thatched mud huts, with half-naked chil- 
dren in front of them, add a village pump, a 
church steeple, and as fore or background a sea 
of mud or a cloud of dust, and you have a 
village which might stand in the Hungarian Car- 
pathians, in Poland, or in the heart of Russia. 
Such a one is Yasnaya Polyana in the district 
of Krapivka, near the city of Tula. It lies not 
far from the main road leading from Moscow 
to Kiev, which is the Jerusalem of Russia, the 
Mecca of every orthodox believer. The air of neg- 
lect which characterizes it extends to Count Tol- 
stoy's estate, the entrance to which is marked 
by two whitewashed, half -ruined towers. At the 
left is an artificial pond now used by the village 
w r omen, who wash their clothes so audibly that 
the woods echo from the monotonous beat of the 

21 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

paddles with which they belabor the wet gar- 
ments. The driveway leads through a park 
which has grown into a forest ; leaving it, one 
faces a modest two-story building whose one 
wing is occupied by the Count and his family, 
while the other is a sort of city of refuge for the 
many named and nameless ones who seek this 
hospitable home. Three times in the last forty 
years it has received additions to suit the grow- 
ing needs of the Tolstoy household, but useful- 
ness, not beauty, was sought after and achieved, 
for nothing which man has done here shows the 
least sign of good taste, and only the shining 
birch and beech trees save the place from being 
hopelessly ugly and monotonous. 

The orchard in the rear of the house has relapsed 
into wildness, and is almost lost in the encroaching 
forest. In front is a well-worn tennis-court which 
is of recent origin, and changes its use with the 
varying fashions of modern sports. On the left 
side of the house is a porch, large enough to be 
the main gathering-place of the Count's family 
and of his guests. One need not have a very 
vivid imagination to find the place melancholy ; 
silent and secluded it certainly is, and in the 

22 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

winter not far from gruesome. The estate be- 
longed originally to the Princes of Volkonsky, 
an old Russian family which traces its lineage 
as far back as 1246, where it claims St. Michael, 
the Prince of Cernago, as the founder of this 
noble house. Maria, the only daughter of Prince 
Nikolai Sergejevitch Volkonsky, brought this 
then prosperous estate as a marriage dowry into 
the Tolstoy family, whose depleted fortunes re- 
ceived through it a welcome addition, and whose 
name, while much less ancient, was not less hon- 
ored than that of the wealthy owners of Yasnaya 
Polyana. Like many of the most virile blood of 
Russia, the Tolstoys came originally from Ger- 
many, where they bore the prosaic name of Dick 
or Dickman, Tolstoy being its Russian translation. 
One cannot get much light upon the early family 
annals, some of which, however, were dark enough 
not to be boasted of by the Tolstoys of to-day. 
Courtiers and politicians there were, men with 
strong passions who did not shrink from dark 
deeds which brought them a titled name and for- 
tune. Of two of the Tolstoys, Ivan and Peter 
Andrejevitch, we know that they held high places 
under Peter the Great, although they had espoused 

23 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the cause of Sofia, and were involved in a political 
plot. They gained their positions by their useful- 
ness to the monarch, who finally appointed Peter 
Andrejevitch Tolstoy ambassador to Turkey, 
where because of changing political currents he 
was cast into prison, and only after four years 
of severe suffering returned to Russia a poor 
man ; later, the magnanimous czar recompensed 
him for his hardships by new offices and grants 
of money. In the adventurous journey of the 
czar through Holland and France, Peter Andre- 
jevitch accompanied him, rising steadily in his 
favor, and was finally given the delicate mis- 
sion of searching for Czarevitch Alexej, who had 
fled from the court, and was found by Tolstoy 
at St. Elmo, near Naples. The czarevitch was 
condemned to death, and although no public 
execution took place, he suffered that sever- 
est penalty, presumably at the hands of this 
Tolstoy, who rose so high as to fall suddenly, 
Peter II. banishing him to a cloister near Arch- 
angel, where he died on the 17th of February, 
1729. While Peter Andrejevitch left upon his 
family a shadow, which in the social life of the 
court might even be considered a halo, he also 

24 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

left some literary productions which show him 
to have had no mean talent as an author and 
a translator, the books he gathered in his exile 
vouching for his taste in that direction. This 
ancestor left to the present heir of his name and 
title the literary tendency, and no doubt Tolstoy's 
democratic spirit was furthered in its develop- 
ment by the consciousness that a great and lofty 
name and fame may come from very low sources. 
The son of this first Count Tolstoy also died in 
exile ; of the son whom he left, nothing is known 
except the fact that he was the father of one 
Andrej Ivanovitch, whose son began to make the 
name of Tolstoy renowned by great heroism in 
battle, and by being the grandfather of the pre- 
sent Tolstoy, whose fame is destined to be more 
lasting than his, although not won at court or on 
battlefield. 

Tolstoy's father was what presumably all the 
Tolstoys were : a child of fortune, a somewhat 
superficial student, a fighter, gambler, drinker 
of fiery wine, and breaker of women's hearts. 
He lived up to the reputation of his class and 
much beyond his means, doing what many men 
have done before and after him, — marrying a 

25 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

woman who had neither youth nor beauty, but a 
large estate and many serfs. She helped him pay 
his debts, and settle down in life, so that finally 
he grew into as good and pious a man as she was 
a woman. Of her still less is known than of the 
father, except that she was a faithful wife, a 
good mother, and an earnest Christian, worthy 
of her illustrious son, Leo Nikolajevitch Tolstoy, 
who was born on the 9th of September, 1828. 
He was the fourth son, and was one year and 
a half old when his mother died. Although he 
never knew her, he has felt her influence all his 
life, and in his story, " My Childhood," mother 
love, that passion to him unknown, is recorded 
in some of the most beautiful and touching sen- 
tences which he has ever written. The mother 
left a new-born babe, a little girl, Maria, and only 
seven years later, the five children were com- 
pletely orphaned by the death of their father. 
When this catastrophe came upon them the family 
had just moved to Moscow to prepare the older 
boys for the university. The three younger chil- 
dren had to return to the country home, where 
they were taken in charge by a distant relative, 
Tatyana Alexandrovna Yorgalskaya, with their 

26 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

aunt, the Countess V. Osten Sacken, as guardian. 
After her death, which occurred within four 
years, this duty fell upon a second aunt, Pelageya 
Ilinishna Yushkova, whose husband owned an es- 
tate near Kazan, where the children were brought 
in 1840. The change from Yasnaya Polyana to 
Kazan seemed advantageous to the relatives, 
because the latter place was the seat of a univer- 
sity, and again because the home of the aunt 
was a fashionable one, and these country-bred 
children might learn there the manners and ways 
of Russian aristocratic society. Tolstoy charac- 
terizes this relative as " a very kind and pious 
person, pious after the fashion of her time, per- 
forming assiduously all the rites of the Church, 
without being conscious of any especial duty to- 
ward her fellow men, or any necessity of a change 
of character on her part." She was superficial, 
fond of pomp and glitter, and desired for her 
foster children nothing beyond success at court 
and in fashionable society. Characteristic of her 
and her social circle is the wish which she ex- 
pressed for her foster son, " that he might have 
a ' liaison ' with a woman, as that gave a man 
a necessary experience." She also wished him 

27 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

to be an adjutant, preferably to the czar, and 
the possessor of a great number of serfs. Nev- 
ertheless, Tolstoy speaks of her to-day with filial 
reverence and gratitude, for she was very kind 
to him when at the age of about eleven years 
he came to her, a boy who never had a childhood, 
and over whose cradle hung the shadow of a 
sorrow which was never quite lifted. This aunt 
says that "he gave promise of being a very 
homely boy, and kept his promise so well that 
his looks separated him from other children, 
creating in him a sensitiveness which both 
refined and embittered his life.^ Everything 
which happened made an impression upon him 
and drew forth his question or comment. If 
his mother had lived she would have treasured 
that which was completely lost upon his aunts. 
He remembers, although dimly, far back into 
his child-life, and the struggles and cries of 
his infant years are still in his memory. He 
often recalls his pleasure at being bathed, and 
can yet feel the sensation of the smooth, warm 
bath-tub over which his tiny fingers moved 
playfully. He also recollects the first fears, the 
being frightened by his nurse, who, wrapped in 

28 






TOLSTOY THE MAN 

an old shawl, came as the Russian bugaboo to 
frighten him and his little sister into being good 
children. He has a vague picture of the German 
tutor who was busy teaching his older brothers ; 
but clearest of all to him is the time when he 
had to leave the upper rooms where he lived with 
his nurse and little sister Masha, and had to 
move downstairs where his three brothers lived. 
It was the step from childhood into boyhood, and 
when his black-haired, tender little aunt took off 
his baby clothes and put on him coat and trousers, 
it was as if she had invested him with the re- 
galia of some burdensome station. " I could see," 
he says, " that she felt as I did ; she was sorry 
for me, but we both knew it had to be ; and for 
the first time I felt that life was not a plaything 
but a serious matter." 

Unconsciously he began to feel an aversion to 
the city ; for the change from the woods and 
fields of Yasnaya Polyana to the paved and dusty 
streets of Kazan was not a happy one for a boy 
who loved the streams and fields, the gathering 
of mushrooms, the chasing after rabbits, and 
the play with the peasant children. The oldest 
brother, Nikolai, came from the Moscow Univer- 

29 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

sity to finish his education at Kazan, and the 
two younger brothers followed a little later. They 
had the best tutors that could be found ; a French- 
man, St. Thomas, later rather disagreeably immor- 
talized by Tolstoy as St. Jerome in his " Youth," 
while in the same story the German tutor, Rossel, 
received glory and honor in the person of Karl 
Ivanovitch. 

The three older brothers chose the mathemat- 
ical course, while Leo, somewhat independently, 
chose the Oriental languages. During the years 
of 1842 to 1844 he prepared himself in Arabic 
and Turko-Tartaric, two languages required for 
entrance examination ; but in spite of the fact 
that the university authorities were rather 
easy-going and could be influenced in favor of 
a poorly prepared student, Tolstoy did not pass 
his first entrance examination, which he took 
in 1844. He failed in history, geography, and 
Latin, but stood well in other languages and in 
religion. 

In a somewhat roundabout way it was made 
possible for him to try again. This time, in the 
fall of the same year, he succeeded, and with 
not a little pride put on his uniform and sword, 

30 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the insignia of the university student. However, 
as he put his mind upon his studies with much 
less ardor, he failed so badly at the first half- 
year's examination that it seemed unwise to 
begin again in the same department, so he dis- 
continued the study of languages and began 
to hear lectures on law. His early failure could 
not have been due to any lack of talent, but 
rather to an unwillingness on his part to grapple 
with dry grammatical formulae, for he showed 
his ability to learn classical languages long after 
his school years had closed. In fact he was past 
middle life when he studied Greek and Hebrew, 
but then he did it in leaps and bounds. Indeed, 
his teacher in Hebrew, Rabbi Minor of Moscow, 
says of his pupil of over fifty years of age : " He 
grasped things quickly, but he read only that 
which was of especial interest to him ; what he 
did not like he skipped. We began with Genesis, 
and went as far as the Prophecy of Isaiah. There 
he stopped his lessons, for to have traced in the 
original the development of the prophecies con- 
cerning the Messiah sufficed him. Grammar he 
studied only when he thought it was absolutely 
essential." 

3i 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

At Kazan he had scarcely a taste of languages, 
much of grammar, but most of something else 
which was very detrimental to study, and that 
was society. Kazan, a city of forty thousand 
inhabitants, was then the social as well as the 
business center of that large portion of the Rus- 
sian Empire which stretched along the Volga 
and Kama rivers. No railroads led to either Mos- 
cow or St. Petersburg, so the aristocrats of that 
region made Kazan their social capital, where 
they spent during the winter all that their serfs 
had earned for them during the summer. Many 
a fond mother brought her daughters to find 
a suitable match for them, and university men 
were held at a premium. Formal dinners fol- 
lowed one another so quickly that a student did 
not need to provide for any meal except break- 
fast. After dinner a siesta was fashionable as 
well as necessary, for each evening brought a 
ball or a card party, which lasted until morn- 
ing. 

Tolstoy's aunt had a home, in which the busy 
social life made study impossible and failure 
at examinations a foregone conclusion. In the 
study of the law he was somewhat more suc- 

32 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

cessful than in his previous attempts, although 
the law faculty was the poorest imaginable, and 
lectures such a farce that students from other 
departments came to them simply to amuse them- 
selves. Nearly all the professors were Germans 
who knew as little of Russia's law as they did 
of its language. 

The student body was sharply divided be- 
tween the aristocrats and the plebeians, and Tol- 
stoy was found among his class. Even then, 
however, he struggled against that necessity, 
and began the inner battle which he did not 
finish until many sharp conflicts subdued his 
natural pride, and made him see in every man 
a brother. He did not win for himself comrades, 
and no friendships survived those years in which 
the making of friends is as great a privilege 
as the acquisition of knowledge. Those who re- 
member him as he was at that time speak of 
him as a very proud and conceited young man, 
who was nicknamed by his fellows "Philoso- 
pher " and " Recluse." Unfortunately he found 
no one who could understand him or to whom 
he could express himself, and his critical atti- 
tude toward the coarse pleasures of the plebe- 

33 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ians, and to the more refined but just as low 
pleasures of the aristocrats separated him almost 
completely from his college mates, none of whom 
rose above the commonplace view of life. Nasar- 
yef, a colleague of those days, and one who was 
never drawn toward him, thus describes him at 
one of the private lectures on Russian literature, 
delivered by a professor who walked about in 
his morning gown quite unconscious of the pre- 
sence of his students : " Tolstoy was one of the 
most peculiar men I had ever seen ; so full of 
self-importance and conceit. The professor told 
something interesting about literature to which 
this young man listened, and after the lecture 
was over left without saying good-by." This 
same Nasaryef spent twenty-four hours with 
Tolstoy in involuntary confinement for having 
come late and noisily to the lectures. The pen- 
alty was not very severe, and was lightened by 
the fact that the Count's servant was permitted 
to attend him. Nasaryef continues : — - 

" As we entered the jail, Tolstoy threw off his 
fur coat rather angrily, and with his cap on 
his head walked up and down without paying 
the least attention to me. He looked out of the 

34 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

barred window, buttoned and unbuttoned his coat 
nervously, and betrayed in every movement his 
anger over this uncomfortable and ridiculous 
position. 

" I lay there with my head buried in my book 
seemingly paying no attention to what he did, 
although I was boiling from rage over his in- 
civility toward me. Suddenly he opened the door 
and called out peremptorily to his servant, just 
as if he were at home, ' Tell the coachman to 
drive up and down in front of the window.' Then 
this moody and disagreeable young man stood 
looking out to kill time in some way. I con- 
tinued to read, but the situation grew painful, 
and I too stepped to the window. In the street 
the stiff and sedate coachman drove his horse, 
now at a trot, and now at a walk, up and down. I 
said something about the beautiful stallion, — 
one word led to another, and an hour later 
we were involved in an endless discussion, the 
warmth of which was intensified by a mutually 
awakened dislike. First he gave vent to his wrath 
against history, in words which later he put into 
the mouth of one of his characters, thus : ' His- 
tory is only a collection of fables and unnecessary 

35 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

details mixed with a lot of useless dates and 
names. These dates and names are the only posi- 
tive things, and the rest, the death of Prince 
Igor, the story of the snake which bit Oleg the 
hero, those are fables. And who needs to know 
that the second marriage of Ivan the Terrible 
with the daughter of Tomruck was solemnized 
on the 21st of August, 1562, and his fourth mar- 
riage with Anna Alexejavna Kallovsky in the 
year 1572 ? That stuff I have to learn by heart, 
and if I do not, I get a zero in my examination. 
And how is this history written ? All of it ac- 
cording to a pattern which was drawn without 
reason by the historians themselves. Here is an 
example of their teaching : " The terrible czar, 
of whom we have heard from Professor Ivanof , 
suddenly changes from being a noble, virtuous, 
and wise ruler, into a senseless, lewd, and cruel 
tyrant." Why? how? and wherefore? one is not 
allowed to ask/ " 

Before Tolstoy left the jail, he gave Nasaryef 
this parting shot : " We two have the right to 
leave this temple of wisdom as useful and edu- 
cated men ; now say it honestly, what are we 
going to take with us into life out of this sanc- 

36 






TOLSTOY THE MAN 

tuary, and of what use are we going to be to 
society ? " 

Not many young men at Kazan asked them- 
selves or others such a question, and Tolstoy's 
fame as a " recluse " and "philosopher " was not 
diminished after Nasaryef reported this first 
known interview with him, in which he disclosed 
his views on education — views of course influ- 
enced by the peculiar conditions in the Kazan 
University, but views which he never changed. 

Tolstoy's aversion to history was increased by 
his dislike of the professor who occupied that 
chair, and that the feeling was mutual is indi- 
cated by this correct account of an examination 
in his department. Nasaryef reports : " The ar- 
rival of the bloodthirsty professor is anxiously 
awaited by the would-be lawyers, who are almost 
crazed by fear. One after the other they receive 
their cards and answer the questions as best they 
can. Finally, it is Count Tolstoy's turn. I was 
very curious to see how he would distinguish 
himself, for I had already recognized in him a 
remarkable young man. Two or three minutes 
passed ; I still waited anxiously while Tolstoy 
looked at the list, growing red and pale alter- 

37 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

nately; but remaining silent. The professor asked 
him to take another card, but the result was the 
same ; he remained silent. The professor also said 
nothing, but looked at the badly confused student 
with an angry jeer. The painful scene was sud- 
denly ended by Tolstoy, who put the lists back 
and walked out of the room, without looking at 
any one or saying a word. ' A zero ; he will get 
a zero/ whispered the students one to the other, 
while I was nearly moved to tears by sympathy. 
The aristocrats who stood around, festively clad 
as if for a ball, and many of whom had to ex- 
pect the same fate, told one another that a num- 
ber of ladies of the highest nobility had been to 
see the professor, and had pleaded with him not 
to give Tolstoy a ' 1/ which meant failure. They 
had implored him so long that he granted their 
request, and gave the Count a zero, which was 
of course worse." 

Tolstoy's dislike of history and failure in it 
were due no doubt to the same causes as his dis- 
like of languages and failure in them. To study 
the technical part of any subject was distasteful 
to him ; if he studied, he wanted to know just why 
he studied, and he preferred to solve the pro- 

33 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

blems of history, rather than to trouble himself 
by names and dates. That he had a proper, 
although somewhat exaggerated, view of the 
faults in the teaching of both languages and 
history, the pedagogic development of the last 
twenty-five years has proved. In languages we 
show to-day the body before the bones, the living 
language before the rigid frame, the grammar. 
In history we find the wherefore of the event 
more important than its correct placing in the 
calendar. Only one professor at Kazan knew how 
to attract this early ripe mind, and that one 
was Professor J. D. Meier, who lectured on civil 
law. He won Tolstoy by assigning him the work 
of comparing the " Sketch of the New Code of 
Laws of Katherine the Great " with Montes- 
quieu's " L'Esprit des Lois." This was the kind of 
work now largely carried on in modern univer- 
sities, and known as the " seminar." But it held 
Tolstoy's complete attention, and proved his only 
successful and profitable work at Kazan. What 
he was to experience as a man had already be- 
gun its premonitions in his soul. He had com- 
menced climbing the mountain, whose height he 
was to reach through self-denial ; although every 

39 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

moment his feet were slipping, and he seemed 
to have lost his faith and all foundations for a 
moral life. That which has made so many slip 
and fall never to rise again, the difference be- 
tween the professions and the practice of Chris- 
tians, was already his stumbling-block ; and his 
aunt's pious prayers and impious ambitions, her 
singing of heaven and helping to create around 
her a social hell, were not the least of the causes 
which drove him to a complete bankruptcy of 
faith ; so that when he was eighteen years of 
age he had lost all of God that he brought with 
him into this world from the other. " I remem- 
ber/' says this treasurer of his own childhood's 
thoughts, " when I was eleven years old, how a 
schoolmate came to me and told me that there 
is no God, and that we all received this state- 
ment as a piece of strange news; something 
possible but not probable. Furthermore, I re- 
member," he says, " how I went walking along 
the lake in the springtime, on the day of my ex- 
amination, how I prayed to God that I might pass 
successfully, and I recall how, after I had learned 
the catechism, word for word, I knew that it was 
all untrue." Suddenly he came to his conclusions 

40 




< 



< 
> 
< 

< 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and decision, and threw things overboard, only 
to weight himself immediately, by new problems. 
Thus at the age of sixteen years he was al- 
ready fighting a moral battle within himself 
and was trying to find some solid basis for his 
lofty and wandering thoughts. Alone, under the 
beeches of Yasnaya Polyana, during long vaca- 
tions, he went through the real schooling which 
he sought. The old and the new philosophy, fu- 
gitive volumes from the classics, and the moderns, 
who began to move and think, were his teachers, 
while at the same time he tried to bring them all 
to that highest of tests, already unconsciously 
established in his life, — the law of Jesus, which 
to him was to be the only law. Like the One 
who was to be his Master, he was among the 
teachers asking questions, and had he been in 
the school of Athens, or at Jerusalem, rather 
than in the stiff, cold atmosphere of Kazan, he 
might have learned more and scorned much less. 
He lost himself in thought, and finally, by think- 
ing about his thinking he entered into an end- 
less labyrinth, and began that self-analysis, that 
hard reasoning, which rested completely upon 
reason and yet broke from it at every point. His 

41 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

university studies were never completed, and 
while he may not have known more than his 
teachers, as he at one time claimed, he knew better 
than they, or at least he honestly determined to 
know better, even if it led him away from the 
usual sources of knowledge. His brothers had 
finished their courses at the university, and he 
found himself more alone than ever. He was at 
that time like a volcano, thrown out upon the Rus- 
sian plain, and asking the reason for his being and 
the end of it all ; he was conscious of his isolation, 
conscious of some strange light, some burning 
fire, yet he began to realize that it was wrong for 
him to stand upon his height, to consume his fire 
or be consumed uselessly by it. As little as he 
was at home in the university, so little was he 
at home in that society of which his aunt's house 
was the center. He was roughly made, sharp- 
eyed, and angular in speech and movement. He 
says of himself, " I was shy by nature, but my 
shyness was increased by the consciousness of 
my homeliness. I am satisfied that nothing so 
determines the direction of a man's life as just 
his exterior, whether he is attractive or not." 
Wherever Tolstoy draws himself he makes him- 

42 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

self as unattractive and shy as he really was. 
This lack of personal beauty may have helped 
him to break suddenly from that society which 
never held him, but which was to reach out her 
seductive arms to him again and again and 
keep him awhile in her embrace. 

Pushed aside or having stepped aside, or both, 
he had a fine vantage-ground from which to 
watch the hollo wness and the folly of it all ; the 
ungenuineness of its affection, the madness of 
its whirl, and the horror and degradation of its 
aim and end. He had a passion to be good, to 
find a kindred soul with kindred longings, but if 
he expressed such a thought he was laughed at. 
He says, "When I gave myself up to ignoble 
passions they praised me : I was encouraged in 
being conceited, domineering, angry, revengeful. 
All that was highly commended." After more 
than thirty years he said in his " Confessions " : 
" I cannot think of this time without fear, repug- 
nance, and heartache ; in every fiber of my being 
I wanted to be good, but I was young, I was pas- 
sionate, and I was alone whenever I sought the 
good." Yes, he was alone as all the seekers are ; 
he was in a narrow path, where the two or three 

43 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

seldom walk together, but each for himself passes 
through the temptations in the wilderness. On 
the 12th of April, 1847, Tolstoy petitioned the 
dean to permit him to withdraw from the uni- 
versity on account of his health and his personal 
affairs. On the 14th he received his papers and 
soon after left Kazan for Yasnaya Polyana. 



44 



CHAPTER III 

THE LANDED PROPRIETOR 

Tolstoy did not enter upon his work at Yasnaya 
Polyana without meeting the opposition of his 
aunt and the ridicule of his brothers. In that 
autobiographical sketch, "Mornings of a Landed 
Proprietor," he speaks frankly of his experiences 
at that period. The hero of the story writes his 
aunt of his determination to live for the pea- 
sants, whom he has found in a wretched condi- 
tion, out of which he feels that he must save 
them, a work which seems to him more neces- 
sary than the continuation of his studies, and 
which he can do without academic training or a 
university diploma. He closes the letter by say- 
ing : " Do not tell my brother ; I am afraid of his 
ridicule." 

The aunt in the story, who no doubt repre- 
sents his own relative, replies : " I have grown 
to be fifty years of age, and known many re- 
spectable people, but I have never heard that 

45 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

a young man of good family and much talent 
should bury himself in a village under the pre- 
text of doing good to the peasants/' The Rus- 
sian young men of good family were living off the 
peasants, and not one of them had yet dreamt of 
living for them. The peasant was a serf, not 
much better than an animal in the estimation of 
his owner, and the nobler instincts of both lord 
and serf were crushed, or remained undeveloped 
by that nefarious institution, slavery. Most of 
the land-owners lived in the cities or traveled in 
foreign lands, where they spent even more than 
could be earned for them by the serfs, left in 
charge of unscrupulous managers, who ground 
out of them all they could ; and in the grinding 
process both the nobility and peasantry came 
near irreparable ruin. The slavery in the South 
of our own country had similar yet different 
effects, because in Russia the slaves were of the 
same blood as their masters, with only a super- 
ficial culture and the right of possession to dif- 
ferentiate the two classes, so that the reflex action 
was immediate and severe. Tolstoy discovered 
the danger to both, and recognized in the peasant 
his kinsman, simple and unspoiled, who needed, 

46 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

as he thought, but to have his faults pointed out 
to him, to remedy them quickly and completely. 
He went to his task with a holy enthusiasm and 
with no little heart-searching as to whether 
after all he was not doing it selfishly and with 
a desire to be odd, two faults of which he was 
always conscious and against which he was man- 
fully struggling. He went to Yasnaya Polyana 
because he wished to give to his life a purpose 
which could be an answer to the question that 
was always ringing in his ears : " Why am I in 
the world ? " Here in this ruined village, among 
these peasants, with centuries of woe upon their 
shoulders, he would work as a redeeming force. 
" I have thought much about my responsibilities 
in the future," he says in that letter to his aunt. 
" I have set up certain maxims for my actions, 
and if God will give me life and strength, my 
plans shall be carried out." No doubt the desire 
to live among the peasants was fostered by the 
reading of Rousseau, who made such a great 
impression upon Tolstoy that he now says of 
that period : " I idolized Rousseau to such an 
extent that I wanted to wear his portrait on my 
breast beside the saint's picture." 

47 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Tolstoy worshiped Rousseau, largely because 
he recognized in him one whose spirit was akin 
to his, and because Rousseau expressed plainly 
what was as yet confused in his own brain ; the 
feeling that something was wrong, that the con- 
trasts in society were too great, that the culture 
which he saw and in which he lived was only a 
varnished barbarism : these things he had felt 
for a long time, and Rousseau's call for a return 
to unspoiled nature harmonized with his feelings 
and found a ready response. 

Tolstoy's course also caused much shaking of 
heads among the peasants, who could understand 
his attitude even less than did his aristocratic 
relatives. To the peasants the coming of the 
owner of Yasnaya Polyana was always some- 
thing to be feared, for it meant that money had 
run low, that debts were pressing, and that new 
methods of getting money out of the serfs and out 
of the soil had to be invented. They used to be 
called before the master to hear of additional ex- 
penses which they must bear, and with threats and 
curses to have loaded upon them burdens which 
grew so heavy that the poor creatures became 
benumbed even to any feeling of grief or oppo- 

48 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

sition. Now they were called together on Sundays 
to unburden themselves, to bring their complaints 
and ask for such assistance as they might need. 
They were always suspicious of their masters, 
but when one came with kindness they were still 
more so. They were always told untruth and they 
answered in the same coin ; they were robbed, and 
in return they stole whatever they could ; they 
and their masters lived in two worlds, each un- 
known to the other, and were not only estranged 
but antagonistic. All the elaborate system which 
Tolstoy organized to uplift them the peasants 
regarded only as a new method of getting more 
work and more money out of them, so that the 
experiment had to fail and did; not only be- 
cause they were suspicious. It failed also because 
the peasants are naturally impassive and do not 
even now care to be disturbed. Tolstoy built 
them model houses into which no one would 
move, even out of huts which might at any time 
bury their inmates ; huts which were damp and 
dark and not as comfortable as some stables. 
Yes, the peasant asked for wood to repair them, 
and if it had been given him, he probably would 
have sold it or used it for firewood ; but to move 

49 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

into a new house, sanitarily built, — "no, indeed 
not, they are veritable fortresses, not homes." 
Home to him was a broken-down shack, the un- 
used manure lying about the door, another hut 
in the same condition, leaning in a neighborly and 
confidential way against his, and the odorifer- 
ous village pond right under his nose. " Leave us 
here," the peasants pleaded, " do not drive us out 
of our nest into a strange world," — the strange 
world being not a mile from the center of the 
village. "Why don't you fertilize your field?" 
Tolstoy asked a peasant who was complaining 
about his own poverty and that of his soil. 
" Your honor," he replied, " it is n't the manure 
which makes the grain grow, but God ; God does 
everything." At every point Tolstoy was met by 
poverty, lies, and an unwillingness or inability 
to respond to most generous help. The school he 
built remained empty, the model houses were 
uninhabited, while the peasants remained just 
as they were, and perhaps lazier if not less hon- 
est because they had been met by gentleness and 
love. It was not a feeling of disappointment 
which filled Tolstoy at his failure, but rather a 
feeling of shame that men could be so crushed 

50 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

by adverse conditions that they could not feel 
kindness or respond to it, and that a life of self- 
denial for the sake of others should be such an 
impossibility. He began to realize the distance 
between himself and those whom he desired to 
help, and to feel that the only way to reach 
them would be to change the relation between 
master and servant, and himself become " like 
him that serveth." His experiences also sug- 
gested the question, whether, after all, the pea- 
sant's life is not the best one ; whether the serf 
who works hard and sleeps off his weariness in 
the fragrant hay is not the happier man ; and 
whether that half vagabond and half peasant, 
" Ilyushka," who harnesses his horses and drives 
from city to city seeing land and people, earn- 
ing his chance ruble and spending it for food 
and drink, — whether his life is not the happier 
one ; and he closes his reflections by saying : 
" Why may I not be like Ilyushka ? " He already 
begins to think about sinking himself into his 
people, but the desire to know more draws him 
to St. Petersburg, where he halts among many 
opinions, now wishing to enter the government 
service as an official, and again planning to join 

Si 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the army on its way to Hungary, where it is to 
help Austria in the suppression of a good-sized 
rebellion. Finally he enters the university, lis- 
tens indifferently to lectures on law and passes 
some kind of examination, without having studied 
anything; for he spends the nights carousing 
and the days sleeping, and deadening his con- 
science by drink. In the spring of the year 1849 
he returned to Yasnaya Polyana, not as a re- 
former, but as a man who needed to be reformed. 
This time he did not come alone ; he had picked 
up in St. Petersburg a piece of wrecked human- 
ity, a German musician whom he found on the 
outer edge of society, ready to drop to his ruin, 
whom he carried home to nurse back to health. 
With him he began enthusiastically the study of 
music, and was initiated into the mysteries of 
the German tone-world, to which he had been a 
total stranger. He had known only that music 
which Russian society cultivated, which was as 
superficial and as light as its own moral fiber. 
Now he learned to love the severe and express- 
ive qualities of Bach, of Gluck, and of Beetho- 
ven, becoming a passionate lover of the latter's 
compositions. About this time Tolstoy's brother, 

52 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Sergei, came into the tuneful atmosphere of 
Yasnaya Polyana, but as a disturbing element, 
for he was passionately fond of gypsies, and 
brought a horde of them to make merry for him 
and his companions. The Russian gypsies are 
professional merry-makers, and although poor, 
are a rather expensive luxury, which only the 
rich can afford. They are found in nearly every 
pleasure resort in Moscow, picturesquely clad, 
swift and graceful in their movements, dancing 
wildly and singing joyously, the women with 
their dark and fiery eyes kindling the sluggish 
blood of the pleasure-loving Russian aristocracy. 
The gypsy is never sorrowful, for he has no his- 
tory to sadden him by its defeats, no prophets 
to burden him by their mission, and no moral 
code to give inconvenient twinges to his con- 
science. He is the best plaything that a Rus- 
sian noble can find, although not seldom proving 
his moral and financial ruin. Sergei married one 
of these gypsy women, and almost persuaded 
Tolstoy to do the same thing. Yasnaya Polyana 
came again into its former glory; there were 
wild music, dancing, gambling, and hunting; 
sleigh-rides behind fast horses, excursions to 

53 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Moscow, and debauches which lasted for weeks, 
with scarcely any time between to become sober. 
In the two years since Tolstoy's failure as a re- 
former, his beautiful dream of being with nature 
and living for others had changed into a hor- 
rible nightmare of vulgar excesses, and he him- 
self had sunk to the level of a common gambler 
in whom the passion had grown to be almost a 
mania. Vainly did the oldest brother, Nikolai, 
who was much devoted to him, try to persuade 
him to enter the army and go with him to the 
Caucasus; he preferred the " broad " life of Mos- 
cow where he could "eat, drink, and be merry," 
and let the morrow take care of itself. Nowhere 
in the world is sin quite so seductive as it is in 
and around Moscow, unless it be in Paris ; but 
there one reaches bottom much sooner, and a 
sensitive conscience quickly begins its accusa- 
tions. In Moscow pleasure comes with oriental 
sweetness and gentleness ; it rocks the con- 
science to sleep while it keeps the passions 
awake. Moscow holds one in her warm embrace 
as if she were a rich and delicate fur coat which 
shields from cold and hardship ; she spoils one 
for life without making one dissatisfied by it. 

54 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Moscow has a Puritanism of form, but not of 
conscience; she has countless churches and no 
preachers. The worst excesses are not only tol- 
erated by society but also encouraged, and had it 
not been for Tolstoy's ever-accusing conscience, 
and his keen, self-analyzing mind, he would have 
gone to the bottom, without, of course, losing his 
place at the top. There are elegant mansions on 
Moscow's boulevards whose purpose is not quite 
known to the uninitiated. Until daybreak rest- 
less horses and patient coachmen wait in front 
of them for their masters, who come out sobered 
by severe losses or doubly intoxicated by excess- 
ive drink and their winnings at games of 
chance. At such places Tolstoy was a frequent 
visitor and a constant loser ; with dogged deter- 
mination he placed his fortune upon the whirl- 
ing wheel until heavy debts pressed him sorely, 
and the sham and the shame of it all drove him 
one day back to Yasnaya Polyana, and from 
there to the Caucasus. He desired to run away 
from a society which was so attractive and yet 
so repulsive, which had exacted from him its 
tribute, and had now so grievously burdened 
him by its dubious reward. 

55 



CHAPTER IV 

THE CAUCASUS 

"Then why did you come to the Caucasus ?" Tol- 
stoy asks one of his characters, who answers : 
"Do you know why? because in Russia we believe 
that the Caucasus is a country for all sorts of 
unfortunate people, but oh ! how disappointed 
we all are ! " "I am not/' the interlocutor replies; 
"I love the Caucasus now more than ever, but in 
a different way." 

This last phrase rightly expresses Tolstoy's at- 
titude toward that country. He did not love it as 
Lermantoff and Puschkin loved it, for its scenic 
beauty, for its virgin snow, for its laurel and acacia, 
for the sweet notes of its nightingales, for the 
possibility of forgetting and being forgotten ; he 
loved it and still loves it because here in this utter 
desolation he " came to himself." Here was the 
prodigal's first " far country," in which " no man 
gave unto him." Here he learned to know that 
large and sorrowful company, the ills of the hu- 

56 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

man race, — hunger, cold, hardship, sickness, dan- 
ger, death, and fear of death. To him nature spoke 
in human terms ; in its beauty and power, in its 
heights and depths he saw the divine forces ; not 
as opiates for dreams and artificial ecstasies, but 
forces for human redemption. He was not moved 
to a glorification of that which was already glori- 
ous, and in a night when he felt all those myste- 
rious sounds melting into an harmonious quiet, 
" when all the manifold, scarce audible movements 
of nature which one can hardly grasp or under- 
stand, flowed together into one full, majestic voice 
which we call the silence of the night," which men 
disturbed by the preparation for battle, he asked 
himself : " Is it really so hard for men to live in this 
glorious world, under this immeasurable, starry 
sky ? Is it possible that in the midst of this en- 
chanting nature, the human soul can harbor feel- 
ings of envy and revenge or the desire to exter- 
minate a like being ? It seems to me that all the 
evil must disappear out of the heart at the touch 
with nature, that immediate expression of the 
beautiful and the good/' 

In the year 1851 Tolstoy came to the Caucasus, 
burdened by his conscience and his debts. He lived 

57 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

in the simplest way possible, among the people, to 
whom he now gave himself as utterly and unself- 
ishly as he had given himself in Yasnaya Polyana. 
He paid five dollars a month rent for a peasant's 
isba, lived on black bread and the meat which he 
brought from the hunt, and listened ardently to 
the simple speech of his companions, drawing for 
mental and spiritual strength upon everything 
which touched him. In company with a simple- 
minded Cossack he tramped through isolated re- 
gions; and one day after having caught a hawk 
(which is used in the Caucasus for hunting pur- 
poses), and being much elated over it, he came 
quite unexpectedly upon an officer who proved 
to be his near relative and an adjutant to the 
commanding general. He persuaded Tolstoy to 
take service in the army ; and after some difficulty 
with the authorities about his papers, he passed 
the necessary examination at Tiflis and donned 
the soldier's uniform. He became a non-commis- 
sioned officer in an artillery regiment which was 
stationed on the Terek River, a tumultuous moun- 
tain stream, on whose shores lived an equally un- 
tamed and rebellious people, the natives of the 
Caucasus, who always " fought for freedom on 

58 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the heights." They carried on an unsuccessful 
guerrilla warfare which kept the Russian army 
busy for decades, and gave many a young soldier 
his baptism of fire. Although the service was 
dangerous and at times arduous, it did not keep 
the busy mind of Tolstoy sufficiently engaged. 
Much as he loved the wild life he lived and the 
close touch with the Russian soldiers, of whom he 
was always fond, he was tortured by homesickness; 
and Yasnaya Polyana with its white birch forests, 
its gentle undulations and its simple peasant folk 
was often before his eyes. It was perhaps natural 
that when death so often stared him in the face, 
he should think much of his childhood and that 
he should desire to fasten these pictures upon 
paper. So he wrote his first story in a soldier's 
tent, little dreaming of his literary career or the 
success of these simple memories of his early 
years. On the 5th of July, 1852, he sent the story 
"My Childhood" to St. Petersburg, where it 
was immediately accepted as the first attempt of 
a great genius who later verified all expectations. 
On the 25th of November he received a very en- 
couraging letter from his publisher ; and by the 
light of the camp-fire he saw himself proclaimed 

59 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

a successful author, although without pay, for 
there was no check inclosed. 

He had not waited to hear the fate of his first 
work, but by this time had already sketched "The 
Mornings of a Russian Land-owner " and "My 
Boyhood/' the last named to be a continuation of 
"My Childhood" and part of a long story in auto- 
biographical form which was to reach its culmina- 
tion in "Manhood." This work, however, was 
never completed. 

The period in which Tolstoy began his liter- 
ary career was an important one in the history 
of Russian letters. Dostoyef sky, Gogolj, and Tur- 
genieff had dipped their pens into the blood- 
drops of the serf and the exile, and had written 
in a prophetic way of " the hurt of my people." 
They had cut loose Russian literature from the 
romanticism of Schiller and Byron, and had given 
the world pictures, not of the passions of the 
flesh, but of the thralldom of " Dead Souls." Sb 
the way was prepared for Tolstoy, and his star 
rose upon a night which already had written 
upon it the prophecy of a brighter morning. 
" May God grant Tolstoy a long life, and I hope 
he will surprise us yet, for his is a talent of the 

60 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

first order." So wrote Turgenieff to a friend, at 
the time of Tolstoy's debut as an author. In- 
deed, this first effort, which scarcely can be called 
a story, had in it not only the prophecy of 
greater things, but also their foundations. With 
truth and sincerity he struck the first note about 
the self and the inner life, and it vibrates in all 
his works with growing strength. This is as 
rare in literature as it is in life ; but the desire 
for an open confession, for perfect self-exami- 
nation and purification, which is so characteris- 
tic of Tolstoy's literary life, manifests itself in 
this, his first work. The little boy, Nikolenka, 
stands at the coffin of his mother and thus 
describes his feelings : " I was very miserable 
because my new coat, which they had put on 
me, was so uncomfortable around the shoulders ; 
I was careful not to get my trousers dusty, 
and I stealthily examined all my surroundings." 
Older people than Nikolenka have felt the same 
way, but they have never confessed it. The con- 
trast which Tolstoy has drawn between the Prin- 
cess Kornakova, Prince Ivan Ivanovitch, and the 
common people around them ; the half -educated 
tutor, the peasant Grisha, and the dear old nurse 

61 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

reveal that love and appreciation of the " other 
half" which has given to his life its direction, 
and has made him the revealer of the Russian 
mujik. 

Another characteristic of his later works also 
manifests itself here, in his hatred of common- 
place phrases : he loves and admires the genu- 
ine. Nikolenka, the hero of his first story, says : 
"The words of comfort, that it is well with her 
over there, and that she was too good for this 
world, — roused in me the feeling of anger." 
But in the corner of the hall he sees the old 
nurse kneeling ; she does not weep, but mutely 
stretches out her hand toward God ; and he re- 
alizes that she alone loved his mother truly. He 
goes to her and finds comfort because she is 
really bowed by grief, and is not mourning to 
be seen by others. Speaking of her death, he 
says : " She dies peacefully, without regret and 
without fear, because she has retained her sim- 
ple, childlike faith, and because her life has 
been according to the law of the Gospel, with all 
its sacrifices and labors." 

Thus early, Tolstoy recognized the spirit of 
that Gospel whose herald he was to be, and 

62 









i sj '•/ 



/ 

V 



1 - 




z 

o 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which he also would try to live in all its sim- 
plicity and with all its rigor. Yet, unconscious 
of the great future before him, he asked himself 
at the close of the story of his childhood, " Has 
Providence united me to these two souls only to 
let me mourn for them ? " 

The next story, " Mornings of a Landed Pro- 
prietor," was still only a picture of his own 
soul life into which the portraiture of other 
characters scarcely entered. It was to remain 
practically the groundwork of all his stories ; as 
he was to tell only what he saw with his own 
eyes and felt in his own heart. He experienced 
everything which happened to his characters; 
and instinctively, one feels that what he has 
written is in a large measure the autobiography 
of his own soul. In the " Mornings of a Landed 
Proprietor" he shows us the first noble passions 
of his life, and to purify that life by self-denial 
and sacrifice, to become a stepping-stone for 
his neighbor's good, to enter into the huts and 
hearts of the lowly, these are the first struggle, 
the first great battle in which he is driven back, 
but not defeated. 

Although there was the momentary reaction 

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TOLSTOY THE MAN 

in his aspirations, he finds in the Caucasus his 
full strength, and his soul again rises Godward ; 
in spite of towering mountains, his keen eyes 
see the poor, struggling mountaineer; and in 
spite of the battle, where drums beat and flags 
wave, he sees nothing but the soldiers, and 
hears nothing but the voices of the living, who 
are soon to die. Thus his stories from the 
battles in the Caucasus plainly show their deep 
human interest. In " The Sortie, the Story of a 
Volunteer/' the only story of the Caucasus 
which he completed there, Tolstoy tenderly and 
sympathetically draws the Russian soldier with 
all his faults and virtues. In Captain Chlopoff, 
who came up from the people, he personifies 
the genuine Russian soul, uncomplaining, not 
boastful, and perfectly honest. The captain 
serves in the Caucasus, as he frankly con- 
fesses, not because of his love of war or of 
honor, but because of the war pay, with which 
he supports an aged mother and his only sister. 
When he defines bravery as "doing what one 
ought to do," Tolstoy's sarcasm strikes the man 
who is vainly boastful. In contrast to the French- 
men who have uttered memorable words in the 

64 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

face of death, he says : " Between their bravery 
and the captain's there is this difference : in 
case a lofty thought should move in the breast 
of my hero, he would not express it ; first, be- 
cause of a fear that if he uttered the great 
word he might spoil the great work ; and sec- 
ondly, because when a man feels in himself 
strength for a great work, he finds words su- 
perfluous." In this story Tolstoy draws for the 
first time the horrors of war ; and already we 
recognize in him a soul which, although brave, 
and without fear of death, shrinks not only from 
the suffering of others, but even from describ- 
ing it. The first bullet that strikes human flesh 
immediately destroys for him the interesting 
picture of the battle. "Why should I tell the 
details of this terrible spectacle," he asks, " when 
I would give much to forget all about it my- 
self ? " Yet with a few broad strokes, without 
much color or detail, he tells us everything. A 
young lieutenant just from the school bench, 
with the traditional idea of bravery in his mind, 
throws himself at the foe hidden in the forest. 
He is accompanied by about thirty soldiers, who 
soon come back, carrying the wounded officer. To 

65 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the encouraging jests with which he is met by 
his comrades, he scarcely gives an answer. The 
surgeon, ready for work, rolls up his sleeves, 
and with a stereotyped smile says : "It seems to 
have blown a hole into your skin ; let us see." 
The lieutenant tries to sit up, but the look which 
he gives the physician, although unnoticed by 
him, is full of surprise and accusation. The sur- 
geon begins to examine the wound from every 
side ; but the injured man loses his patience, and 
pushes his hand back with a heavy sigh. " Leave 
me," he says, in a scarcely audible voice ; " never 
mind me, I am dying ; " and in five minutes this 
first tragedy of the battlefield is over. 

Still deeper out of his Caucasus experience 
Tolstoy drew two other sketches : " The Wood- 
cutters," and " The Meeting with a Moscow Ac- 
quaintance." In the first story he sharply char- 
acterizes the Russian soldiers and divides them 
into three main classes : the obedient, the com- 
manding, and the reckless. He uses the story 
to draw each class, doing it with such skill that 
we at once feel ourselves acquainted with all of 
them. He does not analyze or describe the char- 
acter, but he shows us the man through a word 

66 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which he speaks or the work which he does. In 
the second sketch he describes an aristocratic 
youth, fallen to the lowest level, with all man- 
hood crushed out of him by his vicious life. 
This is a type not rare in Russia, and which 
may be found wherever the scum of society 
settles. Nechludoff, the narrator of the story, 
had met this youth three or four years before, 
in the home of his sister, which was one of the 
best in Moscow ; and this short time had sufficed 
to bring him so low that now he is a drunkard, 
a companion of the lowest camp-followers, and 
quite incapable of thinking an honest thought. 
Tolstoy has often in later stories pictured just 
such cases, in which men fell suddenly from the 
highest planes of culture to the lowest depths, 
and he always shows that keen insight which 
comes from personal experience and contact with 
those unfortunate and sinful ones, who found 
him ever ready to help and to sympathize. In 
his portrayal of such men, one always feels 
that although he does not spare them in de- 
picting their faults, their deep, inner decayed 
self, he does it with the thought, " it might have 
been I ; " and one cannot despise them, although 

6 7 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

they are far from lovable. Moreover, they are to 
represent a class, that higher class of Moscow 
and St. Petersburg, where culture is at its best 
and worst, where lives are crushed out politely, 
where fortunes are ruined suavely, and where 
character is destroyed without breach of eti- 
quette. Tolstoy puts such people beside the poor 
and ignorant, who have not lost their better 
selves in houses of many rooms, but have lived in 
huts, close to the soil and close to God. They 
did not search for glory, neither did they yield 
up life in dishonor. How magnificent is that 
poor common soldier, "Velentzuk," who in his 
death agony draws out his pocket-book, and 
wants to pay his debts ; who, always honest, 
wishes to leave this life an honest man still. 
There is no hypocrisy about this; it is done 
simply, naturally, and in strong contrast to those 
aristocratic officers who can speak in two lan- 
guages and not keep their word in one. 

Although in these stories Tolstoy deals with 
one subject, war, and with one class, the soldier, 
he does not describe war as a massing of troops, 
a march and countermarch, but rather as a strug- 
gle between individuals. Although the battlefield 

68 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which he describes in other stories is greater 
and the strife involves nations, he never loses 
this peculiarity which gives his stories such charm 
and adds not a little to their horror. Moreover, 
he is never intoxicated by powder smoke, by the 
waving of flags, or by the fervor of patriotism ; 
he does not gloat over the slain of the foe, nor 
does he weep over a lost cause. He sees war as 
one might see it who belongs to both sides; 
and to him blood and tears have the same color, 
no matter under what flag they are shed. 

Confessedly out of this Caucasus period, though 
written much better, comes his first long and well- 
rounded story, " The Cossacks." Most of the in- 
cidents in it were told him by an officer during a 
night's journey, but he has concentrated every- 
thing upon his hero, in whom we quickly recognize 
the author himself. Olenin, as the hero is called, 
is a youth of twenty-four years who has learned 
much, but knows very little ; who has planned to 
do great things and has never accomplished any- 
thing. At the age of eighteen, he had no burdens, 
no responsibilities, and gave no bounds to his 
physical and moral excesses. He had faith in no- 
thing, and hoped for nothing ; he had no family, 

69 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

no God, and no fatherland. He did not believe in 
women, yet hungered inwardly for love ; he looked 
down upon earthly honor, yet was glad when a 
prince spoke to him. He devoted himself to art, 
to society, and to work only until it became labor. 
Suddenly he drops everything and goes to the 
Caucasus, drawn by visions of fair women, high 
mountains, and freedom ; and there, far away from 
his Moscow acquaintances, he begins the new life, 
conscious that the old one was wrong and that 
he has lived to no purpose. He comes into the 
home of a Cossack officer, makes the acquaint- 
ance of his beautiful daughter, and promptly falls 
in love with her. He also meets her lover, Luk- 
ashka, the bravest young Cossack of the camp ; 
and above all, he gains the friendship of the 
hunter, Yeroshka, whose simple philosophy of 
life so impresses him that he decides to throw off 
everything of the past and remain in this wilder- 
ness. Nevertheless, he realizes that his aim in 
life is other than theirs, and that an unbridgable 
gulf divides them. He learns this through Mar- 
yanka, the girl whom he passionately loves, but 
who cannot in the least respond to his feelings, so 
he leaves the camp, and as his troyka is about to 

70 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

start, Maryanka steps to the door without showing 
the least sign of emotion. 

Two thoughts which began to manifest them- 
selves in his first story come out strongly in " The 
Cossacks," and increase in power in every one of 
his future works. First, the purification and de- 
velopment of the self through casting off the preju- 
dices and evil effects of our culture ; and secondly, 
that where such culture has not penetrated, we 
find the virtues which society must make its 
own for the sake of its true growth and salvation. 
These two thoughts he brings out everywhere in 
the same way — the first by that sharp analysis 
of the self in which he sees not only himself but 
all the people of his class caught in the same 
meshes, spoiled by the same culture, and whom he 
unsparingly analyzes, probes and condemns. The 
second thought he develops by drawing the char- 
acteristics of the common people whom he sees 
unspoiled, as they came from the hands of the 
creator. As a sculptor who finds the proper clay 
and tenderly and firmly touches and moulds it, 
he uses this coarse material to show what in it is 
lovely ; yet forgetting that, like the sculptor, he 
himself often creates that beauty. 

7i 



CHAPTER V 

SEBASTOPOL 

In 1853 Tolstoy left the Caucasus, more dissatis- 
fied with himself than ever. Love and war had 
destroyed the quiet and the peace which he had 
enjoyed the first few months, and his awakened 
and appreciated talent had worked havoc with his 
decision to live always among the Cossacks. The 
desire for self-effacement gave place to a conscious 
craving for an audience, and he left the lonely 
mountain regions for Moscow and Yasnaya Pol- 
yana. He found Russia on the eve of the Crimean 
war, which brought so little glory to the victors and 
so much untold suffering to all the nations involved 
in it. Tolstoy asked to be reassigned to the army, 
and it speaks much for his courage that he asked 
to be sent to the division on the Danube which was 
then face to face with the opposing Turk. After 
a brief visit to Yasnaya, he went by way of Buka- 
rest to his regiment, where in its attempt to keep 
Omar Pasha from crossing the Danube it suffered 

72 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

its first defeat. Tolstoy was also present at the 
siege of Silistra, where Turkish soldiers under 
German officers, after defending the fortification 
which was almost blown to pieces, drove the be- 
sieging army across the Pruth and the Danube. 
From Silistra he went to Yassy, and from there 
to the Crimea and the besieged Sebastopol which 
was the center of the war, the gateway into Russia. 
Before its walls the allied armies of England, 
France, Sardinia and Turkey lay for eleven months, 
struggling with the resistant Russian soldiers, who, 
behind the earthworks thrown up hastily, fought 
bravely and with renewed zeal, in spite of the 
never-ceasing and murderous fire of the enemy. 
In three sketches, " Sebastopol, December 1854, 
May 1855, and August 1855," Tolstoy describes 
his experiences during the eleven months of the 
siege, during which he was commander of an 
artillery brigade and present in every important 
engagement. He leads the reader through the 
city while it has not yet quite lost its semblance 
to a place of residence for human beings ; he sees 
the scattered reminders of war, the stranded ships 
in the harbor, the ruins of the Russian fleet, sunk 
to bar the waterway for the enemies' vessels, 

73 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

soldiers marching to their new post to relieve some 
worn-out, decimated regiment, or, saddest sight of 
all, a Tartar's cart loaded heavily with the bodies 
of the slain, carried to their last resting-place 
without honor or ceremony. From afar, like the 
roll of thunder, comes the noise of belching guns, 
and he cannot help a momentary feeling of pride 
that he, too, is in Sebastopol. The war which he 
was now to experience was to change somewhat 
his view of the Russian officers, for here they were 
not adventurers, as in the Caucasus, but defenders 
of the Fatherland, and he sees the same feeling 
of earnestness and devotion in the driver of the 
cart, the common soldier, and the white-gloved 
officer. Upon the streets there is nothing to 
prove the necessity for extraordinary valor, but he 
leads us immediately into the hospital, a former 
clubhouse ; he opens the door, and we shrink from 
entering, for we are driven back by the spectacle 
which presents itself and by the odors which 
penetrate our nostrils. " But go on," he says ; 
" unfortunate people like to see a face which pities 
them ; " and he leads us bravely from bed to bed 
while hesitatingly he enters into conversation 
with one and another of the patients. " Where are 

74 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

you hurt?" "In the leg," is the answer, and we 
notice that the leg is gone. Simply the soldier tells 
the story of his wounding, but omits the fact that 
after he was shot he refused to leave the ranks 
until he saw whether the guns which he had 
helped to load did some damage to the enemy ; 
and that in spite of his lost leg he is eager to go 
back to teach the young soldiers how to shoot. 
Farther and farther we go, until we reach the oper- 
ating-room and come face to face with the real 
tragedies of war, after which he stops, and says : 
" You will witness terrible and heart-rending 
scenes, you will see war, — not in its scientific, 
beautiful, and glittering order, with bugle-call 
and drum-beat, with waving flags and generals on 
prancing horses, — but war in its reality, in blood, 
in suffering, in death." 

From the hospital the reader is led to the fourth 
bastion, and there sees the brave defenders of 
Sebastopol at work, dodging the bombs and bul- 
lets which come thick as hail and which strike 
and destroy the defenses and the defenders. Tol- 
stoy stood at this most dangerous post for many 
months, every moment on the brink of eternity. 
What he saw and what he felt here was nearly 

75 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

always the human, and seldom the historic ; the 
canvases he paints are small, and he stints the 
color ; for he knows that only the superficial ob- 
server can see anything beautiful in war. Yet he, 
too, sees something of beauty, — not in march or 
countermarch, in cloud of smoke or flying bombs, 
but in the courage of the men, the bravery with 
which they do their duty, the fearlessness with 
which they meet death. He was very much re- 
spected and loved by the soldiers, for he was a 
faithful officer, a good comrade ; and in spite of 
the prevailing sadness could bring a trace of joy 
to the camp-fire. A captain who served with him 
thus describes him : " With his stories and his 
extemporized verses the Count cheered us all and 
made us forget the hardships of war. He was in 
the fullest sense of the word, the soul of the 
whole battery. When he was in our midst we did 
not realize how quickly the time passed ; when 
he was absent, all the comrades felt blue ; when 
he returned, he came like the prodigal son and 
confessed everything : how much he had lost at 
cards, how much he had drunk, and where and 
how he had spent his days and nights. His con- 
science troubled him and he acted as if he had 

76 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

committed the greatest crimes ; so that one had 
to pity the poor fellow. As a man he was, in one 
word, a queer fellow ; and I must confess it, I did 
not understand him ; nevertheless, he was a splen- 
did comrade, an honest soul, and he had a golden 
heart. Whoever came really near to him had to 
like and could not forget him." Indeed he was 
a "good comrade/' for it was he who startled 
Russia by the story of its common soldiers' suffer- 
ing and of their uncommon bravery. Not in bas- 
tions, mines, and guns he discovers Russia's 
strength, but in the spirit of its defenders. 
"They cannot do this," he says, "because of 
their love of a decoration, or because of fame, or 
because they are driven to it — they suffer and 
die because deep in the heart of every Russian 
there is a great passion, a love for the Father- 
land." 

In Russia this story created a great sensation ; 
the empress wept over it, and the czar, Nicholas 
L, gave order to have this young man kept in 
view, and to remove him from his dangerous 
post in the Fourth Battery. Tolstoy's heart and 
mind were busy, for in the tumult of war he not 
only wrote the first sketch, "Sebastopol in May," 

77 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

but he also continued to work upon his Cauca- 
sus material. After a blundering attack upon 
the enemy, in which the Russians were driven 
back with severe losses, a song was heard at the 
camp-fires ; a song in which in a caustic and hu- 
morous way Tolstoy described the encounter. The 
verse has no poetic merit : it is a mere jingle, 
and not really a good one, but I have translated 
it because it is his only effort in that direction 
with the exception of a few verses to his friend 
Fjett, which are of the same quality. 

How we, on the 4th of something, 
Carried by the Devil's prompting, 
Went to rob the mountain. 

Baron Wrevsky, 1 full of drink, 
Tried to make Gorcakof 2 think 
He must do his bidding. 

" Prince ! oh, follow my advice, 
If you think about it twice, 
I will make report." 

Then the whole staff came together, 
With trailing sword and shining leather 
And Major N. Bekok. 

1 General. 

2 Commander of Sebastopol. 

78 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

And the wise and brave Bekok 
Sat there like a stupid block ; 
Could not give an answer. 

Long they talked and gave advice, 
Topographs then drew plans nice, 
On a sheet of paper. 

Very smooth and very fine 
Looked on paper every line, 
Ravines they had forgotten. 

Princes, Counts, to see the sport, 
Rode as far as the big fort, 
With the topographs. 

" Hey, Liprandi, 1 storm the height ! " 
He said, " Thank you n (in great fright), 
" I would rather not. 

" With sense we cannot do this thing, 
Read 2 alone can vict'ry bring, 
Let me see him do it." 

Read with courage goes along, 
Soldiers follow with a song : 
" Hurrah ! to the bridge." 

Martinau is vainly pleading, 
" Wait for cavalry's relieving ; " 
14 No, go storm the heights." 

1 General. 

2 General Read. 

79 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

On they go with song and cheer, 
But the horsemen are not here, 
Some one made a blunder. 

Regiments went up the height ; 
Driven back in sorry plight, 
Companies returned. 

Bravely there we held our place, 
But of succor not a trace, 
Though we gave the signal. 

With holy zeal the general prayed, 
In safe and sacred spot he stayed 
Before the Virgin Mother. 

Beaten worse than we can tell, 
Him who led us hither. 

If the author's name had been mentioned, these 
verses would have cut short Tolstoy's military 
career, although he was not their originator. 
After the unsuccessful attack, the officers sat 
around the watch-fire talking it over, when some 
one suggested that each in turn compose a verse 
about the affair, which was so tragic and yet so 
ridiculous. The idea was taken up and created 
no end of fun, but the poem did not materialize. 

80 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

The next day Tolstoy brought these verses, which 
were received with applause and soon were on 
every one's lips, making the lives of the gen- 
erals mentioned in them far from comfortable. 
The verses are nowhere mentioned in Tolstoy's 
works, and to-day he laughs when they are spoken 
of, remembering them only as one of his boyish 
pranks, for which there was little opportunity 
during those months in which he was daily the 
companion of men "who were about to die." 
" Six months," he writes in his " Sebastopol in 
May," "have passed since the first bullet whistled 
across and demolished the earthworks thrown 
up by the enemy ; since that time thousands of 
bombs, cannon-balls, and bullets have flown from 
the fort to the earthworks, and from the earth- 
works to the fort ; the death angel has hovered 
over them unceasingly, . . . and the question 
which statesmen could not answer has not yet 
found its solution through powder and shot." 

Still the band plays on the boulevard as in time 
of peace, while officers, gayly dressed women and 
children walk about with a holiday air. Tolstoy 
makes us acquainted with Captain Michailof, 
who goes for the thirteenth time to the battery, 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

is depressed by the unlucky number, and full 
of apprehension. He has gone voluntarily to 
this dangerous post, and in him struggle bravery 
and fear, humility and pride, the desire to live 
and the horror of death. We follow, too, an- 
other officer, Kalugin, who seeks honor, glory, and 
shelter. Unsurpassed in deep and quiet tragedy 
is the death of Praskuchin, an officer who fol- 
lows Michailof to the most dangerous place on 
the battery, and there is struck by an exploding 
bomb. " The second which passed between the 
lighting of the bomb and its explosion seemed 
an hour, and sharp, short, and conflicting are 
the thoughts which pass through his mind." 
" Perhaps it will not explode at all," he says to 
himself, when through his shut eyelids there 
penetrates a red flame, and with a dreadful crash 
something heavy strikes his breast. " Thank God, 
I am only wounded," was his first thought, and 
he wanted to feel his breast, but his hands seemed 
to be chained, and a peculiar weight pressed his 
head. He counts, "one, two, three soldiers, and 
there is an officer with his mantle thrown back. 
Lightning flames in his eyes, and he wonders 
with what they are shooting, mortars or guns. 

82 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

It must be guns. Again they are shooting, and 
again there are soldiers, five, six, seven, and 
they all pass by. Suddenly the fear rose in him 
that they might crush him. He wished to call 
out that he was wounded, but his mouth was so 
dry that his tongue clove to his gums, and a 
dreadful thirst tortured him. He felt his breast 
wet ; it reminded him of water, and he would 
have liked to drink that from which came the 
sensation. He summoned all his strength and 
tried to call out : ' Lift me up ; ' but instead of 
that he only groaned, which was terrible for 
him to hear. Then little red flames danced be- 
fore his eyes, and he felt as if soldiers laid 
stones upon him, and they took his breath more 
and more ; he attempted to push the stones away, 
he stretched himself, and already he saw no- 
thing, felt nothing, thought nothing ; — a burst 
shell had struck him in the breast, and he was 
killed immediately." 

In spite of dreadful torture, and the fear of 
death in its many forms which Tolstoy saw and 
described, he was for a moment elated by the 
prevailing patriotic spirit, and says : " The siege 
of Sebastopol, in which the Russian nation was 

83 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

such a hero, will leave its trace upon Russia/' 
but in the same breath he wonders "whether 
war is not a mistake, in which the nations are 
entangled without cause." The people do not 
hate each other ; watch them during that time 
when the " white flag of truce waves over the 
blossoming valley which is covered by corpses." 
Many thousands of people push against one an- 
other there ; smilingly they talk to each other ; 
two men who meet converse together in a most 
peaceful way : "Are you from the staff ? " " No ; 
I am from the Sixth Infantry." "Where did 
you buy this ? " "At Balaklava." "It is pretty," 
says the one officer. " If you will take it as a 
memento of our meeting, you are welcome to it ; " 
and the polite Frenchman hands the cigarette- 
case to the receptive Russian, who in turn gives 
him his own. They are pleased by this episode, 
and all who see it smile. Thus the officers talk 
one to the other, and the common soldiers meet 
their comrades with still less ceremony. " Tabak 
bung," says the soldier with the red shirt ; and 
the bystanders laugh. "Oui; bun tabak Turc 
and Russ tabak bun?" answers the Frenchman. 
" Russ bun," says the soldier with the red shirt ; 

84 




o 
u 






TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and all around them laugh so heartily that they 
nearly roll on the ground. "France not bun, 
bunshur, mussyo," continues the soldier, exhaust- 
ing his stock of the foreign tongue, and good- 
naturedly hitting the Frenchman in the stomach. 
Thus they continue to laugh together, men who 
poured gunshot at one another an hour ago, and 
who will do the same thing again as soon as the 
signal is given. They chat and laugh, indiffer- 
ent to the tremendous carnage which they have 
strewn about them, and unconscious of the great 
wrong perpetrated by them and against them. 

Here Tolstoy strikes the first strong note of 
that terrible indictment against war, which was to 
make of him the most famous peace apostle of our 
times. "And these Christians," he says, "who 
confess the same Christian law of love and self- 
sacrifice, do not fall repentingly upon their knees 
at the sight of what they have done. The white 
flags are drawn in, anew the instruments of 
death and suffering whistle their horrible tune, 
and one hears sighs and curses." Again he leads 
us to "Sebastopol in May," and still more fearful 
are the pictures unrolled. The Russians are ex- 
hausted but not discouraged, and we meet the 

85 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

same soldier, brave and obedient, who has in him 
more virtues than the officers know or care to know, 
and who goes to his death uncomplainingly. We 
follow two brothers, one of them fresh from St. 
Petersburg, where he " was ashamed to remain 
when others die for the Fatherland." He finds his 
company on the Malachof heights, and his brother 
takes leave of him for the last time. That day ends 
the siege, and brings Sebastopol's doom. The older 
brother receives his death wound, and as the chap- 
lain hands him the cross, he asks : " Have we beaten 
the French ?" and the man of comfort, who does 
not wish to pain the dying man, answers : " The 
victory is ours." At the last moment the soldier 
thinks of his younger brother, wishing him to share 
his fate, and his desire is fulfilled ; for the young 
boy's flesh is crushed underneath the feet of the 
advancing French. 

Sebastopol is to be evacuated, the remaining 
forts are blown up, and slowly the columns move 
into the impenetrable darkness. The soldiers leave 
the place with mingled feelings of shame, regret, 
and gratitude that their lives were spared ; but 
as each man passes over the bridge which leads 
to safety, he crosses himself and then shakes his 

86 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

fist at the victorious foe. Tolstoy also left the 
battlefield, and after acting for a time as an im- 
perial courier, he took his leave of the army, hav- 
ing seen three years of arduous service. It was 
the most important period of his life ; it brought 
latent thoughts to maturity, it increased his love 
for the common man, and his horror of war. It 
gave him a chance to see humanity at its best and 
at its worst ; he had helped many a man to die, 
and that gave him an increased desire to live. He 
seemed to have had a glimpse of the most secret 
recesses of men's hearts, and in learning to know 
others, he learned to know himself. He had not 
as yet a philosophy of life, but he was feeling 
after it. In the chaos of war he came near the 
true source of peace ; laurels, too, he gained, 
upon a field on which the sword had been sup- 
planted by the pen, which henceforth was to be 
his only weapon. 



87 



CHAPTER VI 

IN ST. PETERSBURG 

Russia was in the stage of fermentation. The 
unfortunate policy of Nicholas had brought untold 
ruin upon all classes, which sullenly expressed 
their discontent, while demanding and expecting 
relief. Thirty-three million people, the bone and 
sinew of Russia, its patient, toiling peasants, were 
the property of the aristocrats, who with their in- 
creased burdens, pressed more heavily upon the 
already crushed mujik. During the disastrous 
Crimean war the peasants had been called from 
their far-off villages to be drilled and made ready 
for the defense of their country ; their drill-mas- 
ters were pensioned officers, students, artists, 
and officials; all of them discontented. Their 
spirit quickly communicated itself to the pea- 
santry, which for the first time heard a complaint 
that harmonized with its own repressed feelings. 
Alexander II, whose humane policy will always 
remain like the touch of a sunburst upon a storm- 

88 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

laden sky, permitted in the public press the dis- 
cussion of existing wrongs in order to pacify the 
discontented, as well as to get a perspective for 
his own plan of action. In the capital on the Neva 
had gathered Russia's struggling authors, who had 
been caught in the prevailing upward pressure, and 
were ready to write the wrongs of the people 
and to dream about the unknown and better things 
before them. A journal founded by Puschkin, and 
now edited by Panaieff and Nekrassoff , gave them 
the battlefield on which they bravely struggled 
against Eastern conservatism, and where they 
broke many a lance for Western culture. To us, 
the names of Turgenieff and Dostoyefsky, who 
were the leaders of the movement, are warrants 
of its literary standard ; and that Tolstoy was 
immediately received into this circle as an equal 
shows to what heights he had risen while alter- 
nately wielding the sword and the pen. He came 
to St. Petersburg from the deprivations of a be- 
sieged city, and drew in with deep breath all that it 
could yield him. He soon made the acquaintance 
of Turgenieff, who was then at the height of his 
literary fame and known beyond the boundaries 
of his own country ; not a trace of jealousy was 

89 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

visible in him, although he saw in Tolstoy a rising 
literary star, an equal and a brother, whom he 
received into his home most cordially, although 
he was not a comfortable guest. He came home 
whenever he pleased, which was always long after 
midnight, sleeping until noon, and beyond it; 
and inasmuch as he occupied the parlor of his 
host, who believed in " early to bed and early to 
rise," the latter was not a little incommoded. 

The poet Schenshin, known by the pseudonym 
"Fjett," and who remained in unbroken friend- 
ship with Tolstoy, saw him here for the first 
time. Tolstoy was still in bed when he arrived, 
although the morning was far advanced ; and 
when "Fjett" expressed his surprise, Turge- 
nieff said : " He does that all the time ; he has 
come back from Sebastopol and his battery, and 
he is beside himself. Cards, gypsies, and drink- 
ing, the whole night, and then he sleeps like a 
corpse till afternoon. At first I tried to hold 
him back, but now I have given it up." 

Tolstoy's excessive nature could not be held 
in check ; he sinned every day like the most 
depraved mujik, but repented as magnificently 
as King David. All that he had condemned, and 

90 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

was to condemn still more severely, he tasted 
through and through, and found pleasure in it. 
His perfectly open nature, which tempted him 
to tell everybody just what he thought and as 
he thought it, led him into severe conflicts with 
his colleagues, and especially with Turgenieff, 
who was a perfect idealist in his early years 
and full of mannerisms, which seemed to Tolstoy 
insincerities. Theirs were two opposite natures, 
both of them too strong and individualistic to 
cling to each other. They were constantly quar- 
reling like two spoiled boys, agreeing best 
when Turgenieff was in Paris, and Tolstoy in 
Moscow or Yasnaya Polyana. How trivial these 
quarrels were, their common friend " Fjett " re- 
ports after witnessing the following in Nekras- 
soffs home, where both of them were visitors. 
" Turgenieff walked up and down the room with 
gigantic steps, piteously groaning, holding his 
throat with both hands, and whispering with the 
eyes of a dying gazelle : 'lam done for, I have 
bronchitis.' Tolstoy, like an angry bear, said 
roughly, ' Bronchitis is a disease of the imagi- 
nation.' NekrassofFs heart sank into his boots, 
for he is the editor of the ' Journal/ of which 

9* 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

these two are the main pillars, and he is eager 
to avoid a rupture ; he would like to take Tur- 
genieff 's part, but fears to offend Tolstoy, who 
is lying, angry, on the sofa. Turgenieff, with 
his hands in his pockets and his coat-tails swing- 
ing, walks up and down the three rooms. Every- 
body is excited and nobody knows what to do. 
Expecting a catastrophe, I step to the sofa and 
say : i My dearest Tolstoy, don't be excited. You 
do not know how he values you and how he 
loves you/ ' I cannot permit him/ replies Tol- 
stoy, with expanded nostrils, i to do anything to 
spite me ; now he walks purposely up and down 
in front of me, and turns his democratic shin- 
bones hither and thither.' " 

Their whole early acquaintance is spoiled by 
such trivialities, which are unfortunately con- 
nected with the lives of great people, and which 
spring sometimes from their overwrought nerves, 
but more often from the fact that many an 
unripened genius thinks incivility the sign of 
budding strength and greatness. A year after 
this quarrel, Turgenieff writes Tolstoy from Paris, 
" Our acquaintance was formed under wrong con- 
ditions; when we meet again it will be easier 

92 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and better." But afterwards he writes: "A 
strong friendship between us is impossible, for 
we are formed of different clay." 

Tolstoy's self -appreciation, heightened by the 
self-conscious atmosphere which prevailed in his 
literary circle, and by the praise which was show- 
ered upon him, destroyed all his reserve, and 
made him the storm-center of every company. 
He was used to dealing roughly and honestly 
with himself, and he thought that he could do 
it with others. At one of these gatherings he 
called out excitedly, " I cannot admit that your 
words express your convictions. I stand here 
with my sword or dagger, and I say : ' So long 
as I live, nobody shall pass this threshold ; ' that 
is conviction, but you try to hide from one an- 
other your real thoughts, and you call that con- 
viction." Turgenieff, for whom this sally was 
intended, cried out angrily, " Get out ! your ban- 
ner does not wave here." The trouble was that 
most of the men who composed this circle were 
dreamers who had ideals, but could not coin them 
into words, and much less into deeds, while Tol- 
stoy was as eager for action then as he was on 
the Fourth Battery face to face with the enemy. 

93 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

He had in him that elementary force which 
brooks no opposition, which has no sense of the 
common and the commonplace, and no use for 
them ; which disregards all traditions, breaks 
abruptly from the past, and takes hold of the pre- 
sent as if it were the first day of creation. Out of 
such a mood came his unfortunate criticisms of 
Shakespeare and his admirers, of Goethe and his 
Faust, and of Herzen the Russian author, whose 
name was then upon everybody's lips. Among 
men of lesser strength his words carried convic- 
tion, while among his equals and friends they 
created discords and quarrels, and broke binding 
ties, consequences which he did not care to avoid, 
at the expense of what he considered " truth." He 
also believed that one must have a definite phi- 
losophy of life, and that one must aim for moral 
perfection in himself and others, theories which 
were not considered necessary by his friends, 
among whom art was a great goddess, and "art 
for art's sake "a formula not yet expressed but 
felt, and one which Tolstoy was always ready to 
combat. What contributed not a little to his 
irritability was that he fancied himself ill, for 
consumption was in his family, his best beloved 

94 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

brother being then in its first stages. But more 
perhaps than anything else his disquiet grew 
from the fact that he did not live up to his 
ideals. Each day with him was a struggle for 
moral perfection, and each day saw his defeat. 
Such physical, mental, and spiritual unrest does 
not make a man a good companion, although in 
spite of it, the artist continued to grow, and per- 
haps because of it, his creative power became 
stronger and stronger. 

He wrote during this time another frag- 
ment of the never-completed biographical story, 
"Youth," "The Notebook of a Scorekeeper," 
" The Two Hussars," " The Blizzard," and "Al- 
bert." " The Notebook of a Scorekeeper " is one of 
the keenest criticisms which he has written, of 
the life around him : aside from its artistic merit, 
it ought to be of the greatest importance as a 
tract against the passion of gambling. Just as 
mercilessly as he had pictured war, with its use- 
less and terrible sacrifice of life, he now de- 
scribes the struggle with that passion which has 
ruined such large fortunes, so much character, 
and so many lives. Delicately yet fearlessly and 
plainly he describes Nechludoff 's first step to- 

95 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ward moral ruin ; and although it all happened 
in St. Petersburg, we recognize in his surround- 
ings the "men of the world" who are every- 
where the same, eager to lead others astray, and 
doing it without the slightest twinge of con- 
science. On the contrary, they are proud of the 
fact that they have guided an innocent youth to 
the path which they call the way of life, but 
which is the way of death. "You may laugh 
about it," says Nechludoff blushingly, " Prince, I 
shall never forgive you or myself." " Don't cry," 
says the prince jokingly, " we shall ride home." 
"I don't want to ride anywhere. Oh ! what have 
I done?" Thus he sighed, yet did not move 
away from the billiard-table. "He had been as 
innocent as a young girl." This same circle which 
had prided itself upon destroying his innocence 
also enticed him to ruin his fortune. Pitiable are 
those steps downward, and we follow him trem- 
blingly. He has gambled away all he had ; he is 
possessed by the demon ; he borrows money, the 
money of the poor scorekeeper; he is wanted 
less and less as his fortune is reduced, and finally 
the keeper of the house refuses openly to trust 
him longer. Weighed down by the shame, struck 

96 







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Z 

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7L 

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:- 
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- 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

in the vital part of his sensitive soul, he sends the 
scorekeeper out of the room and kills himself. 

That this was written out of Tolstoy's own 
experience we know, and that he was near com- 
mitting suicide is admitted by him ; that he was 
chastising himself and trying to cure himself of 
the evil which possessed him are plainly seen. 
The story is not less tragic and awful than any 
of his war stories, and the color is as gray and 
dark as that which hung over Sebastopol. He 
takes all the romance out of the social vices, just 
as he blurred all the bright colors in our concep- 
tion of war. 

With less artistic skill but not less forcibly, he 
wrote the story of " The Two Hussars," in which 
he puts opposite each other father and son ; one 
of them a man of the old school, who loves "wine, 
women, and song," an unscrupulous Don Juan, 
and his son, who comes to the scene of his father's 
adventures, with high ideals of life, with an ab- 
horrence of war, and great love for the simple 
domestic life. These are the two points upon 
which Tolstoy is to enlarge more and more in 
his work and in his life, and which here serve 
only as preliminary sketches. 

97 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

In his simple but powerful story " The Bliz- 
zard/' it is as if an artist had unexpectedly 
turned from the painting of figures to that of 
landscapes, for Tolstoy suddenly becomes descrip- 
tive, and silences all his critics who still claim 
that he has no feeling for nature. He tells of 
his journey from one post-station to another, on 
a stormy winter's night ; of the increasing dark- 
ness, the howling wind, the driving snow, the 
long wandering through the trackless night, and 
the impressions made upon him by the illimit- 
able space. Clearly, as if painted upon canvas 
by the best artist, the picture remains before 
our eyes, and we wander with him like that lost 
speck which he was, upon the snowy desert. 
This feeling for nature is one of Tolstoy's artis- 
tic qualities which he purposely suppressed, and 
only once more does it appear in all its fullness : 
that is in the forty-third chapter of "War and 
Peace," which Turgenieff called " the finest de- 
scriptive scene in European literature." Nearing 
the form of a novel, and yet with scarcely any 
plot, is the next story, "Albert," which Tolstoy 
began at this time, and finished during his stay 
abroad. The hero of the story is a German mu- 

98 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

sician, the one whom Tolstoy dragged with him 
to Yasnaya Polyana, and whom he tried to save 
for himself and his art. To Tolstoy he is that not 
very uncommon type of the musician, who has 
great talent but not much character. In him the 
vital fiber remained undeveloped, and in educating 
the artist, the man was lost. Without and within 
he is neglected, — bow-legged, a narrow, bent 
back, long disheveled hair, his thin white neck 
encircled by a cravat which looks like a rope, 
while from his sleeves the dirty shirt protrudes 
itself. Delesoff (Tolstoy) found him in a dubious 
locality, where he delighted the mixed company 
by his magnificent playing. Delesoff is attracted 
to him, takes him home, and is anxious to build 
up in him his destroyed manhood ; but his benevo- 
lence is a torture to the musician, to whom the 
well-ordered life and the comfort of the home 
seem a penalty rather than a benefaction. He 
is detained by force for three days, but finally 
escapes his rescuer, and is found frozen to death 
at the entrance to the ball-room. In reality, 
the musician remained longer with Tolstoy, and 
helped to develop his musical talent, which is not 
inconsiderable. It is in this story that Tolstoy 
* fC ' 99 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

first hints at his condemnation of art, which 
often makes itself both one's creator and de- 
stroyer. 

" The Cossacks/' mentioned in a previous chap- 
ter, is one of five stories written during this 
period by Tolstoy, which increased his fame, and 
caused the gentle and forgiving Turgenieff to 
write from Paris: "When this wine is clarified 
it will be a drink worthy of the gods ; " and to 
Tolstoy he wrote at the same time : " If you do 
not swerve from your purpose (and there is no 
reason that you should) you will do great things." 
Yet his literary reputation satisfied him as little 
as his military laurels, and his desire to come in 
touch with the forward movement of the world 
led him in 1857 to Europe, and directly to Paris, 
the Mecca of Russian intelligence. 



ioo 



CHAPTER VII 

TOLSTOY'S FIRST VISIT ABROAD 

As far as the Neva is from the Seine, so far does 
the spirit of the Slav seem from that of the 
Latin. Heavy, sedate, impassive, he presents a 
complete contrast to the lithe, passionate, and 
graceful Frenchman, to whom nevertheless he 
feels himself drawn, and with whom he is closely 
allied whether their respective countries are at 
peace or not. It may be that Paris grew to be 
the Mecca of the Russians only in that sense in 
which it has been that of the whole intellectual 
and pleasure-loving world ; or the Russians may 
have been drawn there by finding in it the very 
things which their own nation and country 
lacked, or what seems more likely still, they were 
attracted to each other by a real kinship of 
spirit which does not appear to the superficial 
observer. The Germany which lies between 
these two countries, with its deep intellectual- 
ity, its love of law and order, its correctness and 

IOI 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

its brusqueness, never had a great attraction for 
the Russian, who usually passed through it with- 
out noticing it, and without knowing or caring 
to know it. Tolstoy also passed through it quickly, 
and yet his sharp, discerning eyes noticed, as soon 
as he crossed the Russian border, that he was in 
a country full of " courage and vigor ; " that each 
patch of soil showed cultivation, and that it 
was a land worth knowing better. He promised 
himself a prolonged visit on his return trip, and 
hurried on to Paris, where he arrived early in 
February, 1857. 

In Tolstoy's notebook nothing is found which 
shows what effect Paris had upon him, and he 
seldom speaks of his experiences abroad, nor 
is the influence visible in any of his works. He 
saw in Paris the same human beings whom he 
had seen in St. Petersburg, with the same sor- 
rows and cares, the same passions and desires ; 
and although he found more culture, he did not 
find more virtue. If the architecture of its 
churches and palaces was different, and customs 
and habits unlike those at home, love and hate, 
happiness and misery, were the same. Above 
all, he found that the spirit which permeated 

102 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

French society was identical with that in Russia, 
having the same faults and the same virtues. 
The happy-go-lucky, easy-going, pleasure-loving 
crowd which surged up and down the Nevsky 
Prospect, he saw also on the Parisian boulevards. 
In Paris, to be sure, the crowd flaunted its luxu- 
ries more gracefully, and it drank absinthe in- 
stead of vodka ; but it came on the scene at just 
about the same hour, and turned night into day in 
just about the same way. It was the same chess- 
board, only on one side there were more pawns 
and on the other side more kings, while on both 
sides the game of life was played carelessly ; but 
when one lost it said " nytshevo," and the other 
perhaps sought the quickest way to the morgue. 
Tolstoy was not caught in the Parisian whirl, and, 
if he indulged in any of its pleasures, he did not 
grow so dizzy that he could not still see the only 
thing to him worth seeing, — the individual 
human being. He attended the lectures in the 
Sorbonne, rode in an omnibus up and down the 
boulevards, walked through the narrow streets 
where the toilers lived, went to the prisons, and 
attended the execution of a criminal. This single 
death made more impression upon him than the 

103 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

life of the gay crowd upon the streets, and his 
whole nature revolted against so cruel and inex- 
cusable an act. He still hears how the head rolled 
into the wooden casket, and how the headless 
body followed it ; still sees the flowing blood, the 
inquisitive throng, and all the gruesome sur- 
roundings of this scene, which made him rebel 
against a civilization which not only allowed but 
took satisfaction in it. 

In Paris he again met Turgenieff (who had 
grown fond of France and could scarcely exist 
in his own country), Nekrassoff, who was also 
visiting there, and many other lesser lights who 
had come for inspiration. They found Tolstoy 
a better companion than he had been in St. Pe- 
tersburg, which was probably due to the fact that 
he was living a more regular life, and that he 
indulged in no excesses ; consequently his nerves 
were steadier, and he talked less and worked 
more. During his stay in Paris he lived in one 
of those international pensions in which it 
abounds, and of which he says : " There were 
twenty of us of different nationalities, callings, 
and characteristics ; but under the influence of 
French sociability we gathered around the table 

104 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

as if we were a pleasure party. From one end 
to the other the jests and jokes were passed, 
often in mutilated languages. Everybody talked, 
without a care as to how his words would be 
received : we had our philosopher, our fighting 
rooster, our poet, our fool, and they belonged to 
all of us. After the meal we pushed the table 
aside and danced on the dusty carpet, in time and 
tune or out of them, until late in the evening. 
Perhaps we flirted a little bit : we were not 
always very sensible or reverent people, never- 
theless we were human beings. There were the 
Spanish countess with her romantic adventures, 
the American doctor who had access to the Tui- 
leries, the young tragedian with his long hair, 
the pianist who herself said that she had com- 
posed the finest polka in the world, and the un- 
fortunate, beautiful widow with her three rings 
on each finger. We associated one with the other 
in a somewhat superficial but altogether delight- 
ful fashion, and took away with us passing or 
deeper memories of one another." 

In April and May of the same year, Tolstoy 
was in Italy ; but, strange to say, he seemed to be 
unimpressed by it. The ecstasies with which 

105 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

every one speaks of its blue skies and match- 
less seas found in him no echo ; and he passed 
through the Eternal City, through Florence and 
Venice, as if he had been both deaf and blind. 
Only in conversation with friends who have trav- 
eled does he here and there drop a few words ; 
but they add nothing to our knowledge of his 
impressions, for they are often only trivial anec- 
dotes and nothing more. In reality, he walked 
through Italy like an iconoclastic Puritan ; so full 
of thoughts of man's sins and man's sufferings 
that hardly a ray of its matchless beauty pene- 
trated those sharp, half-closed eyes, shaded by a 
knitted brow. In Italy too many beggars hung 
at his heels for him to take any pleasure in vis- 
iting palaces ; he saw too much ignorance and 
superstition to believe in the elevating influences 
of that art by which its museums and galleries 
were crowded ; and, above all, Italy spoke only of 
the past, and in that Tolstoy had little interest. 
He was never a hero-worshiper, did not care for 
tombs or monuments, and his guides found him 
a skeptical, an irreverent, and unwilling victim. 
Although he had not then formulated a theory 
of art, he had given the subject much thought ; 

1 06 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and the classic nudeness was to him not the less 
nude simply because it was classic. And just be- 
cause he had a strong and sensuous nature he 
felt keenly its influence and often knew himself 
too debased to express himself exaltedly. 

In Switzerland, where nature was not spoiled 
by the artifices of men, his artistic soul was 
touched ; and he quivers from emotion at the 
sight of it. He writes in his " Luzerne " : " As I 
went up to my room and opened my window 
toward the lake, I was literally dazed and over- 
whelmed in the first moments by the beauty of 
the water, the mountains, and the sky. I felt 
an unrest, a desire in some way to give expres- 
sion to the overflowing emotions which were 
suddenly filling my soul. . . . But neither on 
the lake, on the mountains, nor in the sky was 
there one straight line visible, or one definite 
color, or yet one quiet point ; everywhere there 
were motion, irregularity, arbitrariness, endless 
variety of light and shade, but also in every- 
thing the quiet, the softness, the harmony, the 
necessity of the beautiful." At the sight of what 
man had done, he felt here just what Ruskin 
felt ; nor does he condemn less severely and sarcas- 

107 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

tically.. "And here, in the midst of this indefi- 
nite, confused, and wild beauty, there stared at 
me from under my windows, stupid and foolish, 
the white line of the boulevard, the linden-trees 
with their supports, the green benches, poor 
miserable works of human hands, which did not 
disappear in the surrounding loveliness, like the 
distant villas and ruins, but which coarsely op- 
posed it." 

He was able, however, to find a spot where he 
did not see the straight English tourist among 
the straight linden-trees, on that horribly straight 
boulevard, and where he indulged " in that in- 
complete but therefore sweeter pleasure which 
one feels when one beholds the beauty of nature 
all alone." He does not revel very long in this 
solitary ecstasy, for he comes in touch with a 
poor dwarfed musician who plays on his guitar 
and sings the songs of the mountains, before a 
hundred admiring guests of the hotel, and after- 
wards is sent away without the smallest reward 
for his work. Tolstoy pityingly follows the 
man, talks to him, and returns with him to the 
elegant hotel in which he played. He takes him 
to the dining-salon, and is refused admittance 

108 



i 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

because of his companion; but in spite of opposi- 
tion he enters with him, and a well-fed, well- 
dressed Englishman immediately leaves his table 
and complains because of the intrusion. 

This simple incident left a powerful impression 
on Tolstoy and furnishes the text for his first 
attack upon society, " Luzerne." It is severe and 
sarcastic, yet so artistically done and so deeply 
felt that it escapes classification among his socio- 
logical tracts. "That is the strange fate of 
poetry," he says, walking restlessly under those 
straight linden-trees ; " everybody loves it and 
desires it, but nobody acknowledges its power. 
Ask all the guests of the ' Schweitzerhof ' what 
is the highest gift of Earth, and all, or ninety- 
nine out of one hundred, will answer : ' The best 
gift of Earth is money.' And yet they have all 
left their comfortable homes in the far corners 
of the world, for . . . the poetry which they find 
in these mountains ; that same poetry of which 
they talk sarcastically and which they admit is 
good for children and young girls." He can- 
not cut himself loose from the thought that no 
man gave anything to the musician, to whom 
they all listened, and in whose music they found 

109 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

pleasure. Emphatically and angrily he writes : 
"On the seventh of July, 1857, in Luzerne, at 
the hotel Schweitzerhof, in which the richest 
tourists live, a poor wandering musician played 
on his guitar and sang for half an hour. About 
a hundred people listened to him ; but although 
the singer asked them three times for a gift, 
not one of them gave him the smallest sum, 
and most of them laughed at him." 

To Tolstoy this is important enough to be 
written by the chronicler with a fiery pen on the 
page of history ; it is more important and of 
deeper significance than the things we read of in 
our newspapers and histories. 

"That the English have killed thousands of 
Chinese because they do not buy for cash, that 
the French have again killed a thousand natives 
in Africa simply because the grain grows abun- 
dantly and because an uninterrupted war is 
good for the development of the army, that the 
Turkish consul in Naples must not be a Jew, 
that the Emperor Napoleon is taking a walk in 
Plombieres and has assured his people in black 
and white that he ascends the throne only to 
please them, — all these things are empty words 

no 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which express well-known facts or which are 
only meant to hide their real meaning : — but 
that which happened in Luzerne on the seventh 
of July, seems to me entirely new and remark- 
able, and has no bearing upon what we call the 
bad traits of human nature ; it is a definite 
phase of our social development. That is a fact, 
not for the history of human actions, but for 
the history of progress and civilization.'' 

His righteous indignation at a wrong against 
one human being seems almost ridiculous ; but it 
has always been and has remained his habit to see 
in the one wronged man the wronged human 
race ; and no less clearly to see in the attitude of 
the mass the one dominating thought, the whole 
attitude, of modern civilization. And as there in 
Luzerne gathered its best results, the incident 
of the musician proved to him that culture has 
destroyed in man his simple, natural, and original 
feeling toward others. He reasoned that in no 
village in Russia would this have been possible. 
The mujik is uneducated, but he knows that he 
is in some way responsible for his brother; 
he is coarse in conversation, but he has that fine 
feeling for others which expresses itself in his 

in 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

conduct toward all the unfortunate. He is some- 
times brutal, but never so brutal that he would 
turn away a man who had given him pleasure 
without recompensing him for it. 

Here among cultured people Tolstoy does not 
find any of these qualities ; consequently he 
thinks that civilization has destroyed them and 
that it is in some way to blame. Less pedantic and 
arbitrary than his accusation and reasoning is 
his solution of all the problems : — 

" One, only one infallible guide have we : that 
Spirit which embraces us all, which permeates 
each individual, and which has put into all of 
us the desire to seek the good ; the same Spirit 
which works in the tree that it may grow to- 
ward the sun, which operates in the flower that 
it may scatter seed in the autumn, and which 
dwells in us unconsciously that we may be 
drawn toward one another." Yet this some- 
what indefinite solution was not altogether 
satisfactory ; he felt that it was "vague phrase," 
and it left him just as undecided as before. He 
was simply drifting with the current, "like a 
man sitting in a boat driven by the wind and 
waves, who might be asked : ' Where are you 

112 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

going ? ' and who could not answer : ' I am going 
there or there/ " 

Neither his European visit nor his touch with 
European scholars brought rest to his ever-ques- 
tioning soul; and although he was to come to 
them again and again, and was to " ask and seek 
and knock" at strange doors, he already felt 
that the answer was not written in any philoso- 
phy ; but that it has been worked out in " The 
One Life," after which he, and every individual, 
with much sacrifice and labor, must pattern. 



113 



CHAPTER VIII 

TOLSTOY'S SECOND AND THIRD JOURNEYS ABROAD 

During the winter of 1857 Tolstoy was again 
in Moscow, and in spite of his repeated " preach- 
ments " against civilization he indulged himself 
in those aspects of it which are simply refined 
barbarities, and of which each generation inher- 
its its full measure. Of those phases of modern 
progress Russia had its share even before it 
was civilized ; and the man who said, " Let us eat 
and drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die," 
now has numerous descendants in its villages 
and cities. Temptation has here a peculiar 
quality ; for the busiest brain soon succumbs to 
the prevailing spirit of idleness, while the most 
virtuous man has at least his recurring tempta- 
tions ; and Tolstoy became a genuine Muscovitic 
aristocrat before he was aware of it. He sinned 
under protest, to be sure ; but that did not 
make the champagne less intoxicating, the cards 
less dangerous to his fortune, or the black-eyed 

114 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

gypsy maidens less ruinous to his morals. This 
life put him simply on a level with other young 
men of his time and station ; for at this stage of 
his development he had only the inclination but 
not the courage to be odd. 

These rough pleasures, this sowing of his 
" wild oats," did not close a single door against 
him, and caused less comment than if he had 
abstained from them. Nor did he cease taking 
full delight in higher pleasures ; for he was a 
constant guest in the home of his friend "Fyett," 
where an artistic and musical housewife gath- 
ered around her the intelligence of Moscow, and 
where many a new symphony and many a new 
song had their first interpretation, which caused 
endless debate. Tolstoy not only listened intelli- 
gently to music, but was a fine performer, being 
especially sought after to play accompaniments ; 
for he was a master in that difficult and thank- 
less art. Sometimes he skipped these musical 
" jours " ; particularly when he knew that some 
tedious guests were to be present, or when he 
suspected his friend "Fyett" of intending to 
practice on the company his poems or transla- 
tions of Shakespeare. 

115 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

At this time Tolstoy had, in common with all 
the idle and noble youth of his acquaintance, a 
hobby imported from the West ; and that was 
gymnastics. The inactive young men of Moscow, 
who found no greater pleasure than to be whirled 
along, sitting behind fast horses, had suddenly 
become active, and a large club-house was opened 
in which they practiced their new accomplish- 
ment. Tolstoy entered into this latest fashion 
with all the ardor of his strong physical nature, 
and every' day at noon could be found here 
" dressed in pink tights, hanging by his toes on 
the trapeze, his bushy hair over his face." When 
he had exhausted himself here, he walked up 
and down the Tverskaya, the loafing-place of 
Moscow's gilded youth : he was always dressed 
in the height of fashion, his hat tilted, and a 
cane twirling between his fingers, — the very 
picture of a dandy. 

Suddenly he disappeared from Moscow, and as 
suddenly appeared in Paris, from where he went 
to Dijon and again began to gather his scattered 
strength to write his sketch, "Albert," the story 
of the unfortunate musician, to which reference 
has already been made. 

116 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

By Christmas he is again in Yasnaya Polyana, 
and ends a rather idle and unprofitable year, 
only to begin another one in the same way in 
the same place. In the winter he hunted, and 
came near losing his life at a bear-chase to which 
a friend had invited him and " Fyett," who re- 
lates the incident graphically : " Tolstoy stood 
nearly up to his waist in the snow, when a pow- 
erful bear appeared and went straight at him in 
a decidedly unneighborly fashion. Tolstoy aimed 
and fired, but failed ; and in the smoke he saw 
the towering body of the animal ready to throw 
itself upon him. He shot again ; this time the 
bullet entered the animal's mouth, but was de- 
flected by the teeth. Tolstoy did not have time 
to grasp another gun, nor could he jump out of 
the way ; he felt a sudden stroke and fell back- 
ward on the snow ; but the bear's aim was as bad 
as his own. It sprang too far, and as it re- 
turned, ready to devour the frightened hunter, 
he had presence of mind enough to push his 
big fur cap into its jaws and for the moment 
avert a renewed attack, until one of the forest- 
ers could come to his aid and drive away the 
monster." Tolstoy was found to be badly bitten 

117 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and bleeding ; but the first thing he said was, 
"What will Fyett think about it ? " 

During that year he lived in close intimacy 
with this poet, whom he called his u little dar- 
ling," and whom he loved for his gifts as a poet 
and as a man. This was the year in which Tol- 
stoy began to be so remarkably interested in 
farm labor ; and his brother describes how he saw 
him walking behind the plow just like a pea- 
sant. Tolstoy himself narrates their conversation 
about it, in "Anna Karenina," where a great 
deal of his inner and outer life is portrayed. 
With marvelous energy he gives himself to the 
tilling of the soil, yet reserves enough leisure 
to enjoy all the beauties of the changing sea- 
sons ; drinking them all in, in strong draughts. 
" What a marvelous day it has been," he writes 
of the Pentecostal holyday; "what a beautiful 
church service ; the fading blossoms of the red- 
bud, the gray hair of the peasants, their bright 
red coats, and the glowing, burning sun ! " He 
testifies to his close touch with nature dur- 
ing this period, by writing the last part of "The 
Three Deaths," in which he graphically describes 
the death of the tree. He did not neglect his 

118 





^Jli 



^r 



COUNTESS TOLSTOY 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

gymnastic exercises, but practiced faithfully, to 
the great amusement of the peasants and the 
chagrin of his brother Nicolai, who writes : 
"Lyoftschik (a pet name) wants to do every- 
thing, and everything at once, and he does 
not want to give up his gymnastics. Near 
the window of his workroom is the apparatus. 
Of course he does as he pleases, and does n't 
care what others say about it ; but the village 
elder finds it rather queer, and says : ' I come to 
the master for orders, but he is dressed in a red 
jacket, and, with one knee over a pole and his 
head downward, is swinging himself. His hair 
hangs down and waves in all directions, the 
blood has rushed to his face, and one does not 
know whether just to gaze at him or to ask for 
one's orders.' " 

The year 1859 was spent in Moscow, with 
long intervals at Yasnaya Polyana, and one or 
two visits to St. Petersburg. During this year 
Tolstoy wrote his story, "Family Happiness," 
and finished that remarkable sketch already re- 
ferred to, "Three Deaths." The story, "Family 
Happiness," is charming; an adjective which 
does not fit many of his best and strongest 

119 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

works. A seventeen-year-old girl, Mascha, an or- 
phan, lives alone with her governess and younger 
* sister on their estate, and falls in love with the 
first man who comes into her awakened woman's 
soul ; that man being Sergei Michaelovitsch, her 
neighbor and guardian. The affection which 
springs in the heart of each is ardent and sweet, 
and its awakening is pictured with the touch of 
a man who has the highest conception of human 
love. Sergei is nineteen years older than Mascha, 
and is much in doubt whether he ought to link 
the life of so young a girl to his ; but love, which 
is stronger than doubt, conquers, and they marry 
and live happily at his country place. 

The happiness which Tolstoy here pictures is 
the longing of his own love-hungry heart. " A 
quiet if lonely life, far away from the city yet 
near enough to men, with the possibility of 
being of service to such as are unused to kind- 
ness, and whom it is easy to befriend ; to do the 
kind of work which one believes to be useful. 
Then recreation, nature, books, music, love for 
a congenial soul ; that is my happiness, and I 
cannot imagine anything higher or better." Yet 
the happiness of which the hero of the story 

1 20 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

dreams is not the happiness for which his wife 
longs ; she grows restless and sighs for the life 
of the city. They move to the capital, she is 
caught in the whirl of its pleasures, and does 
not wish to return to the country with her hus- 
band ; so, in spite of their two children, a break 
occurs, and he goes home alone. She does not 
realize her position or how others may regard it, 
until an Italian count tries to make love to her. 
Then she returns to her husband ; but the happi- 
ness which they now find lacks the fire and the 
romance of the love which was lost, although it 
grows strong and pure in their common devo- 
tion to their children. 

This story is important because the author is 
trying to formulate a theory of marriage, and 
a happiness in married life which is not based 
upon the carnal or what men call the romantic, 
but upon something purer, deeper, and better. 
As if to foreshadow his own coming experience, 
he wrote the story, "Three Deaths." The un- 
willing and harrowing death of the rich woman 
who clings to every fiber of life until the last 
moment, is contrasted with the death of the old, 
worn-out peasant, whose life indeed was " labor 

121 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and sorrow," but who glides quietly into the 
unknown, without fear. Crude, rough, and rude 
are his surroundings, yet no lying phrase reaches 
his ears, which are soon to be closed to all hu- 
man sound. He gives his boots, his only trea- 
sure, to the boy who watches by him, and asks 
in return some memorial upon his grave, — a 
stone or a wooden cross. He dies almost as 
quietly as the tree which is cut down by the boy, 
and out of which he will make the cross for the 
peasant's grave. 

These two stories dealt with problems which 
had not yet come into Tolstoy's life for solution, 
but which were coming nearer to him every mo- 
ment. His favorite brother, Nikolai, was showing 
strong symptoms of consumption ; so it was de- 
cided to send him abroad, his brother Sergei 
and his sister Maria accompanying him. Soden, 
in Germany, was chosen by the physicians as 
the proper place in which to effect a cure, and 
inasmuch as Turgenieff was also there, the deci- 
sion was quickly made and carried out. Turgenieff 
was exceedingly fond of Nikolai, whom he called 
"The Old Sage," and of whom he said after his 
death, " he was a splendid man ; smart, humble, 

122 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and kindly affectionate." After his brother's de- 
parture Tolstoy felt very much depressed. The 
business of carrying on his estate grew burden- 
some, anxiety for his brother, from whom he had 
not heard since his arrival abroad, oppressed him ; 
so, to relieve himself and be near his brother and 
of service to his sister, he decided to go to them, 
and wrote to his friend " Fyett " to that effect. 

His journey this time was by way of St. Pe- 
tersburg and the sea. He reached Stettin on 
the fifth of July, leaving immediately for Berlin, 
where he arrived with a torturing toothache 
which spoiled for him the first few days of his 
stay there. Germany could not fail to be inter- 
esting to Tolstoy ; for it was not only the land of 
the modern philosopher but also the country in 
which the social question was taken from the 
revolutionary arena into the peaceful school- 
room to find itself interpreted in law and life. 
Berlin was beginning to be the great intellectual 
and political center, and already had in it those 
elements which have since made it one of the 
most beautiful and best governed cities in Eu- 
rope. While Tolstoy felt everywhere the severity 
of law, he also felt the strong undercurrent of 

123 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

love which was then drawing men together and 
creating that class consciousness which made of 
the laborer's cap a crown, and of Social Demo- 
cracy a religion. 

He heard a number of popular lectures upon 
sociological subjects, attended sessions of the 
Worker's Union, and listened to a few lectures at 
the university which revealed to him the quality 
of the German pedagogic pabulum. What inter- 
ested him most was the public-school system; 
and he went purposely to Leipsic to have a 
glimpse of its schools, which were considered the 
best in the country. 

From Berlin he went to Dresden, where he 
visited Berthold Auerbach, whose stories he had 
read, and to whom he felt himself greatly drawn. 
Auerbach was as much the revealer of the Ger- 
man peasant as Tolstoy was of the Russian, al- 
though they stood in different relation to their 
subjects. Auerbach contrasted the straightfor- 
wardness and honesty of village life with the 
corruptness and complexity of the life of the 
city, and tried to liberate the peasant from the 
slavery of the new civilization which was being 
pressed upon him, much against his will. The 

124 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

simplicity of Auerbach's narrative, the educa- 
tional quality by which his work is permeated, 
the purity and nobility of his life, attracted Tol- 
stoy, and the few days that they spent together 
in Dresden were memorable to both of them. 

Tolstoy next went to Kissingen, where he took 
treatment as a preventive of consumption which 
he thought he had inherited, and which he be- 
lieved was manifesting itself. In Kissingen he 
met Julius Froebel, a nephew of the founder of 
the Kindergarten system, and himself deeply in- 
terested, not only in pedagogic matters, but in 
anything which concerned the social well-being 
of the masses. Froebel relates that Tolstoy gave 
expression to queer notions, among which was 
the thought that Russia would some day surpass 
Germany in educational matters ; " for the Rus- 
sians/' he said, " were yet an unspoiled people, 
while the Germans were like a child which for 
years had been receiving a wrong education." 
He communicated to Froebel his ideas of a new 
educational system, and the plans of a school, 
the beginning of which had already reached the 
experimental stage. The people were to him 
mystical beings, into whose depths no one had yet 

125 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

penetrated, and out of whom great and remark- 
able things were to come. He spoke sympathet- 
ically of communism; and in the labor trusts, 
which had their forerunners in Russian life, and 
are called " artels," he saw outlines of the future 
social world. 

Disquieting news of his brother's condition 
came to him, and he went to Soden on the twen- 
tieth of August ; arriving there, he found Niko- 
lai so ill that his recovery was not expected. 
Tolstoy went with him to the south of France, 
where he died in his arms on the twentieth of 
September. Tolstoy's letter to his friend " Fyett " 
is written on the seventeenth of October, and is 
full of despair, evidently having been written 
under the influence of Schopenhauer, whom he 
was beginning to read and appreciate. He 
writes : " He literally died in my arms. Nothing 
in my life has made such an impression on me. 
He was right when he said, l Nothing is worse 
than death ; ' and when one remembers that it is 
the end of everything, then there is also nothing 
worse than life. Why should one work and worry 
when of that which was Nikolai Tolstoy nothing 
remains ? He did not say that he felt the coming 

126 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

of death, but I know that he was listening for its 
approaching steps and knew positively what was 
before him. A few minutes before he died he 
dozed ; suddenly he awoke with a start, and said, 
'What was that?' He was beginning to feel 
his absorption into nothing ; and if he found no- 
thing on which to take hold, 1 what shall I find ? 
Much less than he ; and assuredly I shall struggle 
with death as he has struggled. To the last minute 
he held on to life, did everything himself, tried 
to work, asked me about my plans, and gave me 
his advice. But I believe that he did all these 
things, not from a really natural impulse, but 
because of his principle. One thing remained 
with him to the end, — nature. The evening 
before he died he went into his room and sank 
exhausted upon his bed by the open window. I 
came to him, and he said to me, with tears in his 
eyes, 'What a happy hour I have had/ . . . 
1 Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return/ 
But one thing is left : the vague hope that in 
nature, of which we are a part on earth, some- 
thing remains, and something will be found. 
All who saw Nikolai die, said, 'How peace- 

1 Nikolai's was a very religious nature. 
127 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

fully he has passed away ! ' But I know what 
a torture death has been to him, because none of 
his feelings escaped me. A thousand times I say 
to myself, ' Let the dead bury their dead ; ' but 
what shall I do with the remaining strength? 
One cannot persuade a stone to change its 
course and fall upwards instead of to the earth 
whither it is drawn ; one cannot laugh at a joke 
which has grown tedious ; one cannot eat when 
the hunger is satisfied. To what purpose is 
everything, when to-morrow is to begin the death 
agony with all the mysteries of a lie, of self- 
deception, — and it all ends in nothing for you ? 
Is n't it amusing ? ' Be virtuous, be useful, happy, 
as long as you live/ say the people one to an- 
other, and you say that happiness and virtue 
have their root in truth. But the truth which 
I have discovered in my thirty-two years is, that 
life is terrible. You write, € Take life as you find 
it, because you yourself are to blame for the 
position in which you find yourself/ I take life 
as I find it, but as soon as man has reached the 
highest plane of his development, the truth which 
he loves above everything else is awful. When 
one comes to see that clearly and plainly, he 

128 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

wakes, and says like my brother, 'What is that ? ' 
Yet it is plain that as long as one wishes to know 
the truth and to tell it, he endeavors to know it 
and to tell it ; that is the only thing in the world 
of morals which remains for me, and higher I 
cannot go. This one thing I shall do ; but not 
in your form of art. Art is a lie, and I cannot 
longer love a lie, although it is beautiful. . . . 
I shall remain here this winter ; for, after all, it 
is the same thing where I live." 

Thus deeply crushed, with views of life of a 
decidedly somber color, and a theory of his own 
art like that which he announces decades later in 
his " Confessions," he nevertheless gathered both 
courage and strength, left the Riviera and went 
to Geneva ; from there again to Italy, through 
which he made an extended trip, and where he 
gave its art a more careful glance. In Mar- 
seilles, where he stopped on his way to Paris, he 
visited the public and industrial schools, and came 
in touch with the social movement of France. 

From Paris he went to London. England 
always stood high in his estimation, although 
he did not like that type of the English which 
traverses the whole world and is disappointed if 

129 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

it does not find all of it to be a suburb of London. 
" It is the country of the noblest ideals and yet 
also of the coarsest materialism/' Tolstoy said in 
a passing conversation ; and from the idealistic 
standpoint it was to him the most sympathetic 
of any country in Europe. He felt himself espe- 
cially attracted to Ruskin, and although they 
never met they were closely related in spirit. 
Both were aristocrats to their very finger-tips, 
and both were making the way straight for the 
coming of a democracy. Both were artistic na- 
tures, yet laid great stress upon the value of 
common labor. Both formulated theories of arts 
in which they were not masters, and which have 
caused much shaking of heads among the artists. 
Ruskin was as intense as Tolstoy, but not so 
concentrated; he was as religious but without 
being so rationalistic. In both of them the reli- 
gious element is an important part, and both 
have interpreted it "in terms of human rela- 
tions." Tolstoy attended a session in the House 
of Parliament. He visited the Tower and the 
dreadful East Side of London, where he saw civili- 
zation at its worst. He went to Brussels, where 
he remained but a short time, and, returning to 

130 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Russia by way of Germany, he visited Weimar, 
Gotha, and Eisenach. In Eisenach he climbed to 
the Wartburgh, — another Luther, he, born on 
a brighter day, in a darker country. In a visit- 
or's book he wrote a sentence short and true : 
" Luther is great." Tolstoy and Luther are not 
so far apart as passing time has made them ; and 
they have fought upon the same battlefield with 
nearly the same weapons and the same enemy. 

In 1861 Tolstoy was again in St. Petersburg ; 
and from there he went through Moscow to Yas- 
naya Polyana. With the full determination to 
make use of the experiences gathered abroad, 
he immediately asked the government for the 
privilege of establishing a public school in which 
he wished to develop his pedagogic ideas. 

This year was an unfortunate one for Tolstoy, 
for it brought a complete severing of friendly 
relations with Turgenieff. The cause, as usual, 
was a trivial one. They were the guests of 
"Fyett" on his estate in Stepnakoff, and Tur- 
genieff was telling of the education of his ille- 
gitimate daughter. He had engaged for her a 
governess who was very anxious to develop in 
her the altruistic feeling. "Now," he said, "she 

131 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

makes my daughter mend the clothes of the poor 
people." "And do you approve that?" asked 
Tolstoy. " Of course I do ; it brings the child in 
touch with the real need of the people." " And 
I," replied Tolstoy hotly, " believe that a finely 
dressed child mending dirty clothes is simply 
performing a theatrical scene." "I won't let 
anybody talk that way to me," replied Tur- 
genieff, not over-gently. "And why should I 
not say just what I think?" was Tolstoy's battle- 
cry. One word brought another, and the damage 
done was so great that a duel was talked of but 
fortunately averted. This little incident kept 
these two great men apart for nearly seventeen 
years, to their mutual regret ; and both of them 
were to blame, although neither of them acknow- 
ledged it. The unprejudiced lookers-on cannot 
help putting more blame upon Tolstoy, whose 
exaggerated sense of truth knew no bounds, and 
who needlessly offended a great man and a loyal 
friend and admirer. Tolstoy suspected Tur- 
genieff of professional jealousy ; but there was 
never a trace of it in him, and he treated the 
younger man with the most generous respect. 
They were two opposite natures, as Turgenieff 

132 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

said : one of them, Turgenieff, a modern, a 
Westerner, and an artist, every fiber of his be- 
ing in the present ; and Tolstoy, although just 
as little a child of the past, eager to roll time 
backward, to turn away not only from all the 
achievements of civilization, but also from his 
own deeds and talents, to become " a voice in 
the wilderness." 

He wrote this year the already spoken of 
" Cossacks/' built upon material brought from the 
Caucasus ; a shorter story, " Polikushka," which 
he regarded as " mere stuff " which " any man 
might write who could wield a pen." He also 
organized his school, published a pedagogic jour- 
nal called "Yasnaya Polyana," made plans for 
new literary work, and held the office of justice 
of the peace, which was no sinecure, inasmuch 
as it meant settling the quarrels which arose 
after the liberation of the serfs, and the allot- 
ment of land to them. Tolstoy says : " Through 
that year I was justice of the peace, school- 
teacher, journalist, and author, and nearly un- 
nerved myself by the tasks, the struggle in my 
court was so great and my work in the school 
so unsatisfactory. My writing in the 'Jour- 

i33 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

nal/ talking one way and then another, which 
came from the desire to teach everybody and 
yet to hide the fact that I knew not what to 
teach, grew so repulsive to me that I threw the 
whole thing aside and went to the i Steppes/ to the 
i Bashkires/ to drink ' kumiss/ to breathe fresh 
air, and to lead a purely animal life." Strength- 
ened, he returned from the " Steppes " in the 
south of Russia ; the skies grew brighter, his 
courage had risen, his hold on life was stronger, 
and he began to think seriously of marriage; 
which was to end his dissatisfaction with life 
and bring the long-sought quiet and happiness. 



i34 



CHAPTER IX 

TOLSTOY'S MARRIAGE AND FAMILY LIFE 

No human problem which pressed itself upon 
Tolstoy was permitted to work itself out secretly. 
" I have no secrets/' he says ; " everybody may 
know what I am doing ; " and from the first 
perplexing questions which troubled the half- 
awake brain of the child, through the whole 
scale of human emotions, he permits us to listen 
to him as he tries to answer or solve them. 
With the same frankness with which he un- 
covers the heart of the child and youth, he re- 
veals the heart of the man who is beginning to 
feel the joys and sorrows of his first true love. 
When he tells in his story, " Family Happiness," 
of the growth of the love of Sergei Michaelo- 
vitsch for Mascha, the daughter of a childhood's 
friend, he is simply telling the story of his own 
love for Sofia Andreyevna, whose mother, a Rus- 
sian woman, was his dear friend (and only about 
a year and a half his senior), and whose father 

i35 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

was Dr. Baer, a German physician. Tolstoy was 
attracted to their home, not only by the friend- 
ship which bound him to the mother, but also 
because he found in its pure and hospitable 
atmosphere much of that which other houses 
lacked. Countess Tolstoy says that her husband 
was attracted to her parents' home because of 
its fine aristocratic spirit, while he maintains 
that it was because of the democratic principles 
which prevailed in it ; for the daughters not only 
knew how to speak four languages fluently and 
play the piano artistically, but could supervise a 
household, and if necessary perform all the labor 
themselves. 

Although Tolstoy was many years older than 
the young woman upon whom his choice had 
fallen, his love from the first was ardent and 
strong. He hesitated, however, to declare it, and 
his attentions were so general that the friends 
who kept a watchful eye upon him could not 
determine whether his visits were intended for 
the mother or the daughters, and, if for the 
daughters, for which one. The burdens by 
which he had loaded himself grew greater every 
day ; the government had looked with suspicion 

136 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

upon his schools, the problem of developing his 
own life according to his high standards grew 
more difficult, and he yearned for the life of 
which he had long dreamed — " life by the side 
of a pure woman who would breathe peace upon 
him and who, while sharing his labor, would in- 
crease his joy." If ever a man thought of mar- 
riage " advisedly and soberly," it was Tolstoy ; 
for although he was drawn to Moscow by that 
resistless power which he knew to be the power 
of love, he withstood the temptation to declare 
himself, and looked in silent admiration upon 
the young girl, in whom the promises of a 
beautiful womanhood were beginning to be 
fulfilled. 

One day that same autumn a carriage drove 
into the park at Yasnaya Polyana, and out of it 
sprang three young women, who were followed 
by their mother, Mrs. Baer. They were on the 
way to their grandfather's estate, some fifty 
versts behind Yasnaya Polyana, and a short stop 
among their friends was as pleasant to them as 
it was to Tolstoy, to whom their presence brought 
great delight and seemed a fulfillment of his 
dreams. Sofia, the second daughter, was what 

i37 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

we would call a tomboy, but without very much 
emphasis on the boy ; for she was womanly, 
graceful, and beautiful, yet as " playful as a 
kitten." She loved tennis and other outdoor 
sports, jumped over fences and ditches, climbed 
trees, and made the woods ring from her laugh- 
ter. Somber old Yasnaya Polyana seemed to 
have been re-created by the presence of this 
young fairy, whose every step Tolstoy followed 
and upon whom his eyes rested fondly. For him 
there existed only two classes of women — " the 
one, which was composed of all the women in 
the world except Sofia, and who were heirs to 
all the feminine faults, just common human 
beings — and the other class, just her alone, 
without a fault and high above all others." Al- 
though no one knew that his attentions were 
centered upon her (and the mother thought that 
they were surely intended for her eldest daugh- 
ter), Sofia, with that intuition which belongs to 
woman, had not only divined his love, but it had 
also awakened in her the same feeling. 

Mrs. Baer and her daughters left Yasnaya 
Polyana after a three days' visit, and there was 
something in the glance of Tolstoy's eyes and 

138 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

in the pressure of his hand when he bade Sofia 
good-by which made his riding after them in a 
few days and his appearance at Ivizy quite nat- 
ural and not unexpected to her. He came with 
the strong desire to ask Sofia to be his wife ; and 
while they were alone under a shading tree, she 
sitting on a wooden bench in front of a table, he 
looking down on her chestnut-brown hair and 
into her grayish-blue eyes, the desire ripened 
into determination. She was playing with a piece 
of chalk, writing on the table, or rather just mak- 
ing marks, when he said : " I have been wishing 
to ask you something for a long time ; " and the 
grayish-blue eyes looked into his, frightened but 
friendly, as she said: "Please ask." He took the 
piece of chalk out of her fingers, and wrote the 
first letters of the words of a sentence which 
was very complicated and which she had to de- 
cipher. " And what is this, and what is that ? " 
he asked of one word after another ; and with 
wrinkled forehead and blushing cheek she an- 
swered him. " And this word ? " he asked again, 
and she said, "It means never, but it is not 
so ; " and taking the crumbling chalk from him, 
she wrote four letters which did not form the 

i39 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

words of an intricate sentence, and he needed 
no one to ask him, " What is this, or what is 
that?" He knew what they meant; for all she 
wrote was e-v-e-r. This declaration of his love he 
used in a more complicated form in his "Anna 
Karenina," where Levin thus declares himself 
to Kitty, his future wife. While in the story the 
mother seemed at first opposed to the union, in 
reality it was the father, Dr. Baer, who bluntly 
and definitely refused to give his consent. He 
wished to see his oldest daughter married first ; 
and not until Tolstoy threatened to shoot him- 
self if the father persisted in his refusal did he 
yield. 

Tolstoy wished to be married immediately ; he 
did not understand why he should have to wait 
for the consummation of his wishes until the 
trousseau was finished ; and he begged off month 
after month of the time set by Mrs. Baer, until 
finally the 23d of September, 1862, was settled 
upon as the date on which the ceremony was to 
be performed. He went at everything connected 
with the business of being married in an awk- 
ward and reluctant fashion. His struggle was 
especially great when he had to go to confes- 

140 




LEO TOLSTOY, JR. 

The son who has literary tastes 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

sion, a matter which he had long neglected and 
in which he did not believe, but without which 
he could not marry. Yet he would have gone 
through the fire if it had been between him and 
his Sofia; so he went to the church and down 
upon his stiff knees, receiving absolution from 
the gentle, simple-minded priest, "who, indeed, 
could pull a tooth without hurting ; " or, in other 
words, who could forgive sins without disturbing 
the conscience. Tolstoy listened to the service 
now absent-mindedly and now critically ; for al- 
though he did not believe anything, he did not 
yet know but that he ought to ; and while he 
denied his faith before the priest, he was not quite 
sure when he reached home whether, in trying 
to be perfectly honest, he had not after all told 
an untruth. 

The day of the wedding found Tolstoy more 
nervous and excited than the cool-headed bride. 
He had to be ordered about like a school-boy, and 
was as much confused about the right and left 
hand as a raw Russian recruit who receives his 
first lesson in drilling. He felt deeply the quickly 
mumbled words of the priest ; and the music of 
the invisible choir which repeated over and over 

141 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

again, " Bless them, Lord ! " echoed in his 
heart. " Eternal Lord," prayed the priest, " who 
hast united that which was separated, who hast 
made the indissoluble ties of love, and who 
blessed Isaac and Rebecca, these are their de- 
scendants according to the covenant. Bless them, 
these thy servants, Leo and Sofia, whom I my- 
self bless ; for thou art a most merciful God, full 
of love for men, and we praise thee, the Father, 
and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, throughout 
eternity, amen." The rings were exchanged, but 
not without their first being mixed ; the priest 
said, " We unite the servant of God, Leo, to the 
handmaid of God, Sofia ; " and Tolstoy had en- 
tered into the long-looked-for harbor. "Fyett, 
dear old boy, dearest friend," wrote Tolstoy, 
intoxicated by his happiness, " I am married 
two weeks and am a new, an entirely new crea- 
ture." 

Sofia entered completely into the thoughts and 
plans of her husband. She was as idealistic as 
he, but much more practical ; she took posses- 
sion of keys and closets, brought order into con- 
fusion, and drove the leisurely horde of servants 
and peasants into desperation, if not into a faster 

142 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

gait. She had inherited from her father some- 
thing of German thrift ; and the rubles were not 
permitted to roll out faster than the kopeks came 
walking in. She kept the books and the cash, be- 
came general manager and overseer, and again 
Tolstoy writes to " Fyett," " I have made an impor- 
tant discovery : Inspectors, overseers, and village 
elders are a nuisance. I have done away with 
them, and Sofia and I are way up to our eyes in 
farming. We have bees, sheep, a new orchard, 
and a distillery. I live in a world which lies so 
far away from all literature and all criticism that 
when I receive a letter like yours, my first 
thought is one of astonishment and surprise 
as to who has written 'The Cossacks/ or 'Poli- 
kushka ' ! " 

In the summer of the next year " Fyett " came 
on a visit to which he had been repeatedly urged ; 
and he paints in glowing colors the idyllic pic- 
ture which he saw. Dressed in a light gown, 
Sofia came running to meet him among the white 
birches, a sapling herself; Tolstoy was at the 
pond, catching crabs which they had for supper. 
Everything was bright, hopeful, full of life and 
full of peace. It was a glorious evening which 

i43 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

he spent with them ; there was no trace of any 
pressing problem, and no weighty questions were 
discussed. It was just life at its best ; a self- 
effacing life in which Tolstoy forgot himself and 
all the problems of existence. 

The young couple was not spared some dis- 
illusions, for Tolstoy was still very human and 
his wife had never pretended to be anything else. 
He loved her passionately and trusted her im- 
plicitly ; yet he was jealous, and when the yellow 
monster controlled him most, he looked every- 
where for an imaginary lover, and then was 
heartily ashamed of himself. On the 28th of 
June, 1863, their eldest child was born. With 
its first cry Tolstoy awoke from his dream, and 
the old questioning spirit began to torment him 
again about the meaning of life and its develop- 
ment. Neither his happy marriage nor the birth 
of his child could fill so large a life completely ; 
nor did the teaching in the schools and writing 
his pedagogic journal satisfy him. 

" The Linen-Measurer " is the only thing he 
wrote during the early part of his married life. 
It is the story of a horse which philosophizes 
about property, society, and humanity in general ; 

144 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and grew out of Tolstoy's love for horses and his 
critical attitude toward society. So artistically is 
this done that one scarcely realizes the fact that 
it is impossible for a poor, halting horse to think 
so logically and intelligently. Tolstoy has the 
same love for animals that characterizes the 
Russian mujik, who makes household pets of 
them, and lives so close to his stock that he and 
they grow like one another, — patient, slow, and 
meditative. Walking through the markets of 
Moscow with a friend, Tolstoy pointed to the 
small, unkempt, good-natured horse which stood 
among the pots and kettles that the mujik had 
brought to the market, and noticed this very 
resemblance. He never passed a horse without 
petting it, and when it was ill-treated he felt for 
it as for a human being. 

The years up to 1877 were filled by diligent 
work : the writing of his longest two stories, 
the looking after his estate, which he tried to 
improve in every way possible, teaching in the 
public schools, and, what was the most impor- 
tant, training his own children. "War and 
Peace/' which took five years for completion, 
needed constant and painstaking historical study ; 

145 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

but books were far away and difficult to get. 
The Russian censor kept strict watch upon every- 
thing that breathed thought from the printed 
page. The libraries in Moscow which were well 
stocked by historic books were always in confu- 
sion ; for there was no catalogue (neither is there 
yet one, although it has been coming for some 
thirty years), and Tolstoy had to work painfully 
and laboriously. His most productive time was 
winter, or when winter was passing away, when 
the huts of the peasants began to be thawed out 
from the surrounding snow. Spring brought the 
cares of the farm, which were constantly grow- 
ing greater ; for in the measure in which he tried 
to carry on the work intelligently, the peasants 
grew more stupid and less reliable. When he 
wrote to " Fyett " about the progress of his sto- 
ries, he never forgot to mention his timothy and 
clover, or his sick horse, and to ask for this or 
that favor, from the buying of a rope to an agri- 
cultural implement. When spring came, which 
in Russia does not come like a " dancing psal- 
tress," but like a troop of rough, boisterous boys, 
his thoughts turned ardently toward that side 
of nature which cannot be plowed or sown ; and 

146 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

in imagination he saw the coming summer in all 
its beauty. "A friend is good, but Nature is 
better ; she is a friend whom one does not lose 
in death, for when one dies he is completely re- 
united with her." He feels that Nature is the 
one thing that connects him with the higher 
world ; and " if one were not conscious of her, so 
that in stumbling one can catch hold of her, life 
were an evil thing indeed." 

Tolstoy grew mentally lazy in the summer ; 
the physical and mental joys were so great that 
he forgot or neglected the pen. Visitors came 
flocking during that season, and although he 
jealously guarded his time and strength, he was 
always a genial host, who thought it his duty 
to entertain the company, and always was the 
soul of it. " Fyett " writes to him that he is 
alone, and he replies, somewhat fretfully, " For- 
tunate man to be alone. I have a wife, three 
children, and a baby, all of whom are sick. 
Fever and heat, headaches, coughs," the whole 
catalogue of infants' diseases, had descended 
upon them and kept him from work. He is glad 
when visitors come, even if only to quarrel with 
them ; and he does quarrel with most of them, 

i47 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

although good-naturedly. Often he complains: 
"I am doing nothing; it is a dull, dead time 
with me ; I do not think or write, but feel my- 
self pleasantly stupid." This stupidity was in 
reality his period of ripening ; thoughts crowded 
his brain thick and fast, and he absorbed them 
like a sponge. He read much of the German, 
French, and English classics, but they made no 
impression upon him. Schopenhauer came to 
him like a revelation, and he was astonished that 
no one had discovered that pessimistic genius ; 
unless it was, as Schopenhauer so often says, 
that " besides idiots, there are no human beings 
in the world." 

The next year Tolstoy began the study of 
classic languages, a matter which he had neg- 
lected in his youth, and in which he now found 
much pleasure. " From morning till night," he 
writes, " I learn Greek and do nothing else. I now 
read Xenophon at sight, although for Homer I 
use a dictionary, as it gives me a little trouble. 
I am happy that God has sent me this foolish 
notion. First of all, I find real pleasure in it; 
secondly, I realize that I never knew what beau- 
tiful and what beautifully simple things have 

148 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

been created by the words of man ; and, thirdly, 
I do not and shall not write mere verbiage." 
The intense study of the Greek, which was fol- 
lowed by the study of Hebrew, brought on an 
illness, and for a time it looked as if the dreaded 
consumption had fastened itself upon him. He 
went to Samara to drink kumiss, and returned 
strengthened, ready for the greater work before 
him. Following his illness came the death of the 
youngest boy ; treacherous croup had choked 
out the little life, bringing sorrow and sadness to 
Tolstoy, but especially to his wife, who, in spite 
of her physical strength, suffered deeply from 
this affliction, upon which still others were to 
follow. 

Tolstoy's aunt, Tatyana Alexandrovna, died 
not quite a year afterwards, and he writes : "She 
died slowly and gradually. I have been used to 
death ; nevertheless, hers was, as is the death 
of each person who is near and dear to us, a new 
and terrible experience." It was to him like 
losing his mother ; for she had been with him 
from his earliest years until he left her to go to 
the university. Another child, a ten-months-old 
baby, died during the same year, so that the 

149 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

angel of death had scarcely turned from their 
door until he came again. 

The education of the children was no little 
task, and one which was entered into with much 
thought, but in which the parents were not a 
unit. The Countess did not wish her children to 
serve as an experiment, and they received the 
customary education in the usual manner, through 
tutors and governesses. It is true that much 
liberty was given them, that they were not driven 
to their tasks, and that they were the constant 
companions of their parents ; but the method 
was a compromise, and brought none but the 
customary results. Strong as Tolstoy was in his 
convictions, he did not feel that he should force 
his wife and children into his way of thinking ; 
and at Yasnaya Polyana it was soon the fash- 
ion for every one to go his own way. Friends 
of the family call this coming and going and 
do-as-you-please fashion the "Tolstoy style"; 
and it has its advantages as well as its disad- 
vantages. 

Countess Tolstoy was in many respects a model 
wife, and to be the wife of a genius is no easy 
task. Uncomplainingly and joyfully, she bore 

150 




MARIA LEVOVXA 
The second daughter 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

him thirteen children in twenty-seven years, 
nursing all of them but one herself. She was 
their companion and friend, and nine of them 
grew into manhood and womanhood by her side. 
For love of her husband she buried herself with 
him in Yasnaya Polyana, until she thought that 
for the sake of the children they must move to 
Moscow. She went with him through every 
phase of his moral and spiritual development, 
and stopped short only when to continue would 
have endangered the educational and social stand- 
ing of the children. One cannot blame her for 
stopping just where she did stop, but one cannot 
help regretting it. True it is that the children 
might have grown up like peasants ; but they 
would have been the sires of such a peasantry as 
Russia has never known, and of which it is sorely 
in need. Nine such peasants would have stood like 
strong pillars in a new social temple, while they 
are now nine aristocrats among ninety thousand 
or more of their kind, no worse and no better 
than the others. Among the sons, Leo, Jr., alone 
has literary tendencies and some talent. He has 
written a number of plays, and in one of them 
his father discovers real dramatic power, although 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the public does not seem to share this opinion. 
He is married to an excellent Danish woman and 
lives in St. Petersburg, where he is endeavoring 
to be of some public service. Another son is an 
official of the government, while the others 
have married rich wives. Two of the daughters 
have married nobles of the highest rank ; so 
that nearly all his children have gone over into 
the camp of his sworn enemies. During these 
years Tolstoy was beginning to know that he was 
made of the stuff of which martyrs are made ; 
and martyrs and reformers ought never to marry. 
No man can press a thorny crown upon the head 
of the wife and the children he loves ; and a wife 
of Countess Tolstoy's tender and devoted nature 
can always slip a piece of velvet under her hus- 
band's crown just where he wishes it to press 
most heavily. She always knew what he needed, 
even if he did not wish it, and although he was 
beginning to sway the world by his thought, he 
was often swayed by her thoughtfulness. Had 
Tolstoy married a woman less practical, less de- 
voted to the material side of his interest, and less 
careful of everything that concerned his health 
and comfort, he would no doubt have died long 

152 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ago ; but many people ask themselves whether 
he would not have lived longer ; for he would 
have died either a victim of his enemies or a 
sacrifice to his principles ; and these insure a 
longer immortality than being cuddled in a soft 
bed and living beyond the allotted threescore 
years and ten. 



i53 



CHAPTER X 

TOLSTOY AS PEDAGOGUE 

The difference between a Russian aristocrat and 
a peasant is social, rather than cultural as it is 
in Poland, for instance, where the two seem to 
belong to separate races and nowhere have a 
point of contact. In Russia they are more closely 
related than the aristocrat allows, or the peasant 
knows. They are " chips of the same block " ; the 
one carved and polished, and not always thor- 
oughly, the other rough and crude, lying just 
where he fell ; and the two are an immeasur- 
able distance apart. In Tolstoy they seemed to 
meet ; for he is the finest product of the Russian 
aristocracy, and feels himself drawn toward it, 
although he resists the attraction as best he can 
resist it. At the same time his love for the soil, 
for the homely peasant and his homelier beasts, 
manifests itself strongly in him, and he was the 
first to cry out : " Take your feet from the body of 
the peasant ; for you are trampling on your own 

1 54 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

flesh.' ' He was quick to see the unspoiled good 
in him, and for the good which was spoiled he 
felt himself and his class responsible. 

The Russian peasant is, like all Russians and 
all other human beings, more or less, a big bun- 
dle of contrasts. He is faithful and suspicious, 
honest and false, simple-minded yet shrewd, in- 
dustrious and lazy, good-natured yet a furious 
fighter. He is one of Russia's many unsolved 
problems and unfinished products which Tolstoy 
felt it his duty to help solve and finish. On the 
19th of February, 1861, during his absence 
abroad, the edict which liberated the serfs had 
been signed and the difficult task of readjustment 
was about to begin. As most of the serf-owners 
looked upon the emancipation of the serfs as 
ruinous to themselves and the peasantry, the gov- 
ernment found in them a great unwillingness to 
obey the new and revolutionary law. A few, 
including Tolstoy, had set their serfs free before 
the law was passed ; but to the majority it was 
a greater hardship than was the freeing of the 
slaves for the Southerners, as the Russians not 
only had to give up their human property but 
also much land, for which, however, they were 

iS5 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

to be recompensed ; but the payment was to 
be slow and long drawn out. Each peasant 
was to begin his new existence as a land-owner, 
and to the former serf -owners themselves was 
intrusted the task of reorganization. Tolstoy- 
was appointed by the Senate as one " mirovoy," 
or justice of the peace, before whom differences 
were adjusted and quarrels laid aside. To him it 
was no empty honor, nor was he unfitted for the 
office ; for he was strong yet tender, he had an 
abnormal sense of right and yet was peace-loving. 
He was a splendid organizer, and it is fair to say 
that the peasants in his district, although they 
were judged by a superior, were served as by 
one of their own number. There was no little 
complaint made by the owners of the " souls," as 
the serfs were called, because of his partiality 
towards them ; and although he tried to be per- 
fectly just to both parties, he had small patience 
with those of his neighbors who saw in the 
mujik an inferior being, born for servitude only. 
The peasants were also hard to manage, for they 
had no idea of the difference between mine and 
thine, and when it came to the division of pro- 
perty, they could not see why they might not 

156 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

have this piece of land as well as that, or why 
this noble could not dispense with a particular 
bit of meadow which they desired. Once very 
servile, they now tried to take the bit into their 
own mouths and run away, quite unconscious of 
the fact that they were still passengers in the 
cart which they were pulling and that the only 
fundamental difference between their new rela- 
tion and the old one was that now they would 
be paid for the pulling, while formerly they got 
but scant food and much whipping if the master 
was so inclined. 

Tolstoy saw in the serfs' emancipation a ful- 
fillment of his own desires, but could not help 
feeling disappointed later as to its material re- 
sults for the peasants. He never thought that 
this humane act came too soon, but he felt after 
a few years that the peasants were not quite 
capable of taking care of themselves. They had 
a chance to buy land but did not do so ; they could 
easily have increased their stock, but instead of 
that it decreased ; the soil which they might have 
improved grew more impoverished ; and when 
they should have aided one another in their 
new communal life, selfishness as well as poverty 

157 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

increased. The freeing of the serfs did not quite 
solve the problem, because the product, the pea- 
santry, had to be finished first, and Tolstoy contin- 
ued with still greater ardor the education of that 
incomplete, overgrown child, the mujik. Tolstoy 
had begun his educational experiment very 
young, when he knew but little about pedagogic 
principles and was not aware that the organiza- 
tion of private schools was not permitted by the 
government. He had gone abroad largely to 
study the schools in the west of Europe, quite 
unconsciously obeying the almost universal prin- 
ciple that " nations go West to study, and East 
to teach." In 1859 he organized two schools 
near his estate, and when he returned in 1861 a 
third one was added. He had brought with him 
a German assistant and four university students 
from Moscow, whom he had trained for this 
special task. In December of the same year a 
fourth school had to be opened ; and before long 
Tolstoy was the superintendent, principal, and 
teacher of twelve schools, which he constantly 
visited and in which he taught the Russian lan- 
guage, singing, drawing, and Biblical history. 
The central school was at Yasnaya Polyana, in a 

158 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

wing of his residence, and consisted of two rooms, 
a physical cabinet, and adjoining them two liv- 
ing-rooms for the teachers. Manual training was 
also attempted, and a carpenter's bench stood in 
the hall above, while in the one below it was a 
crude gymnastic apparatus. 

The first principle which Tolstoy announced 
was that there should be absolutely no compul- 
sion used anywhere in any way. Perfect liberty 
was the watchword ; if the peasant did not care 
to go to school, it simply proved that the educa- 
tional system, as well as its product, was unsatis- 
factory. " What right have we/' he says in his 
pedagogic journal, " to force a peasant to study, 
when we do not quite know what or how to 
teach? The West has a method which has an 
historic development, and it can be defended 
upon that ground ; but in Russia we do not know 
yet what is good and what is ill." There was to 
be no imitating any method ; there was, indeed, 
to be no method, or, as he puts the whole mat- 
ter tersely, " The only method of education is to 
experiment ; the only standard, Liberty." Or 
somewhat more clearly he says again, "The 
public schools should meet the needs of the 

i59 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

people ; but what these needs are can only be dis- 
covered by studying them and experimenting 
upon them." His school was conducted in this 
way : at eight o'clock in the morning a bell was 
rung by one of the boys who slept in the school ; 
for in winter not all the children could return 
to their homes. The bell was a signal and not a 
call, and who would come, came. If they were in 
time, well and good ; if they were tardy, no one 
noticed it. They carried nothing in the shape 
of books, as all the work was done in the school- 
room and not much of it out of books. The 
children could make all the noise they wished 
to, and they took full advantage of the privilege, 
although not any more than in some schools 
where they are supposed to be "seen and not 
heard." Nor did the noise subside when the 
teacher appeared ; and when he opened the desk 
to distribute the books and writing materials 
they rushed at him, each one eager to get his 
own first. The seats were not assigned accord- 
ing to any method, but each child sat just where 
he chose ; some sat on the floor, others stood 
near the teacher's desk, and all did just as they 
pleased. Children of one neighborhood natu- 

160 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

rally flocked with one another, and the girls also 
naturally drifted toward each other. They stayed 
in the school-room seven hours ; but of these so 
many were filled by apparent play and so few by 
work that no one found them too long. Russian 
history and religion were taught in one room, 
and all the children attended those classes to- 
gether. Although there was a regular schedule, 
it was seldom adhered to ; for the teacher al- 
lowed himself the same liberty which he gave to 
the children. He taught as long as he thought 
that they cared for a subject, and often prolonged 
a lesson because they were in the " swing " of it ; 
while another theme was no sooner begun than 
it was changed because the school was not in 
the mood for it. When the children were most 
interested, as in reading or history, they crowded 
close to the teacher in pellmell fashion ; although 
by instinctive courtesy the girls and the smaller 
boys were permitted to stand closest to him. 

When Tolstoy entered a room everything 
stopped, and the pupils surrounded him beg- 
ging for a story; for the children knew him 
to be a splendid story-teller, and they listened 
to him as attentively as did the grown-ups the 

161 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

world over. Many of his best folk-tales have 
their origin in these school-room visits, and he 
frankly acknowledges that the children helped 
him to make them. He told them about his im- 
prisonment in the Caucasus, his adventures with 
bears, described the antics of his favorite dogs, 
retold according to Russian taste the " Arabian 
Nights," and wrote for them what is regarded as 
one of his finest folk-tales, " God sees the truth, 
though He does not tell it at once." A primer 
which he wrote at that time has gone through 
twenty editions, and is still popular with the 
people as well as with the educators. If the 
weather was good, Tolstoy and the children ran 
out of the school-room into the woods, to the 
meadow, or the pond. They bathed and fished 
together, and in the winter made snow-men or 
pelted one another with snowballs. The foremost 
boy among them was Tolstoy himself, who was 
the leader in all their pranks. 

This method, although he did not permit it to 
be called that, attracted and received its full 
share of criticism. A school without law, order, 
or schedule, and with teachers and principals 
who behaved themselves like little boys, was 

162 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

something to be severely condemned. The one 
criticism which both the state and the individual 
made in common was, that pupils from such a 
school could not be trained to be good subjects 
of an autocratic government, or desirable chil- 
dren of parents who exacted obedience. Tolstoy 
replied that it was not the business of his schools 
to train, but to educate ; that training rested 
upon force and law, and had 'its reason in the 
state, the church, the family, and society as 
they were organized. " It is reasonable/' he said, 
"that the state wishes to train, for it needs men 
for various purposes to fit into the niches already 
built for them ; the church also wants the 
children trained, so that they may obey and be- 
lieve ; so does the family, because it wishes the 
children to grow into something of the same 
fashion as the parents." Society, he claimed, 
desired children trained in a certain way, for 
no healthful purpose, but simply to satisfy the 
pride of the human mind. Consequently its 
methods bear the most dangerous fruit : such 
as universities and university training. He 
judged all such institutions by those of Kazan 
and Moscow, and their fruits by the educated 

163 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

proletariat which they created, and so came to 
the conclusion that universities serve no good 
purpose. "For they do not spring from any 
real need felt by the people, they do not train 
those necessary to humanity, but only such as a 
corrupted society needs." The West, he declared, 
had universities because they grew and devel- 
oped with the people, and perhaps served their 
purpose ; but the East had its development still 
before it, and one does not know just what uni- 
versities it will need, if any. To Tolstoy, Russia 
was a world apart, which could healthfully de- 
velop only according to the character of its peo- 
ple, whom he considered radically different from 
those in the West ; a thought that has served 
to strengthen the Slavophilic movement which 
makes this its chief doctrine, but in a much 
less humble spirit. 

While Tolstoy did not believe in training a 
child, he believed in its education, which he 
thinks should be based upon the individuality 
of the child, and therefore should give the com- 
pletest liberty. " The school is not to have rigid 
schedules and far-reaching plans ; but every 
science is to be studied and taught in the 

164 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

completest freedom, and it will gradually and 
harmoniously adjust itself to the needs of men. 
The school, then, is not an institution in which 
to train children, or to force knowledge upon 
them, but it is to influence the child definitely ; 
and influence is without force." 

He pictures a school in which everything 
which a child instinctively dreads shall be ab- 
sent. No high desk for the teacher, no straight, 
monotonous rows of benches, no long wastes of 
blackboards before which children feel them- 
selves so small and insignificant. His ideal is 
that everything should constantly change with 
the needs and tastes of the children. A school 
as he saw it was to be a kindergarten, univer- 
sity, museum, theater, picture-gallery, forest, 
library, and meadow, all blending into one. This 
was indefinite enough ; but it had in it the peda- 
gogic ideals of the future. Tolstoy knew that 
his plans were idealistic and that the coming 
generations would cling to their institutions as 
they found them, " upon the principle of the sick 
man who said : ' The medicine has been bought, 
therefore I must drink it.' " 

More radical than his method of education, 

165 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and in greater contrast to present standards, was 
his view of its aim and purpose. Markff, the 
inspector of the Latin School in Tula, a very- 
excellent pedagogue and a personal friend of 
Tolstoy's, wrote a criticism of his school in which 
he says, in brief, that " Upon the education of 
the younger generation by the old, upon the com- 
munication of its views and conclusions to the 
younger generation, which give it a basis for 
development, upon these rests the progress of 
humanity." In answer to which Tolstoy comes 
out bluntly, and says : " I do not believe in this 
progress, it is not a universal law ; progress is 
not always necessary, nor is it always good. 
Progress in one direction is paid for by a back- 
ward step in another. In Russia only the useless 
classes believe in progress; nine tenths do not 
believe in it; for it does not add anything to 
their happiness. The peasant does not need the 
telegraph, or the railroads which entice him from 
the country to the city, neither does he need the 
printing-press ; he is not quite sure that reading 
does not spoil him. We must believe the pea- 
sants more than we do society ; for they are in 
the majority and without them society cannot 

1 66 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

live ; but the peasant can live without society." 
He does not believe in progress, and therefore 
does not think that one generation has a right 
to interfere in the education of the next. Here 
it was pointed out that Tolstoy overrated the 
peasant, and, moreover, that he acted contrary 
to his principle, the very existence of his school 
being the proof of it. He defines education as 
" A human activity which has back of it a desire 
for equality in knowledge, and the fundamental 
law of the self-progression of knowledge." Fi- 
nally, he came to this conclusion : " We must go 
to school to the children and not the children to 
us." Their simplicity and honesty, their native 
intuitions, their great thoughts, which sprang up 
quite unconsciously, his great love for them, by 
which he measured all their virtues, his love for 
everything natural, and his abhorrence for every- 
thing artificial, made him echo the saying of a 
prophet of long ago : "A little child shall lead 
them." He studied them intently ; the birth of 
each thought, its formation into speech, its trans- 
ference to paper ; all this he felt through and 
through; becoming as much as possible "like 
the least of these little ones," he saw their 

167 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

kingdom. He found in them the creative power 
of the artist, and full of astonishment he cries 
out : " I was surprised and frightened when I 
made this discovery ; I felt like a treasure- 
seeker who has discovered the magic root by 
which he will find the prize he desired ; or as 
one who comes suddenly upon the Stone of Wis- 
dom which he has sought incessantly for years." 
One story which has appeared among his works 
is the product of these children, and is called 
" Soldier's Life." It is the biography of a boy 
whose drunken father is sent away among the 
soldiers and who comes home a new man. Tolstoy 
thinks that nothing better than this has been 
written in Russian literature, and he bases his 
opinion upon the fact of its naturalness and 
simplicity. He felt the Old Testament to be a 
great source of inspiration, and the children 
disclosed to him its simple grandeur. He says : 
"I tried to teach them the New Testament, 
geography, the history of Russia, and natural 
history ; everything was easily forgotten, and 
listened to rather unwillingly. Only the Old 
Testament remained in their memories, was lis- 
tened to delightedly, and retold by them when 

1 68 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

they reached their homes. It stayed with them 
to this degree, that, after two months, they 
could, with only a few mistakes, write down 
what they had heard. I believe that the Old 
Testament, this book of the childhood of the 
race, will always remain the best book for the 
childhood of every man." Tolstoy does not be- 
lieve in expurgated or abridged editions of the 
Scripture, but thinks it should be read by every 
child, with all its secret and sacred thoughts and 
its great and lofty poetry, which bring him under 
the enchantment of this new and old world, and 
which awaken in him the desire to develop him- 
self. To Tolstoy it is the power which lifts the 
curtain before the child, who willingly enters 
that world and reaches out after the New Tes- 
tament, after the history of his own country, 
and the sciences of nature. " There is no book 
like the Bible to open to the child this new 
world, and to hold him to love and to know- 
ledge. I mean this also for those who do not 
believe it to be a revelation. I do not know a 
book which gives in such compact and poetic 
form every phase of human ideas as the Bible. 
All the questions which arise out of the mani- 

169 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

festations of nature have their answer here ; 
all the original relations of man to man, the 
family, the state, religion, are known for the 
first time through this book. The power of truth, 
and wisdom in its simple, childish form, take hold 
of the child's mind with their powerful charm. 
The Psalms of David influence not only the 
thought of the child, but he learns to know for 
the first time the whole fascination of poetry in 
its inimitable purity and strength. Who of us 
has not wept over the story of Joseph and his 
brethren, or listened to the story of the shorn 
Samson with much anxiety and beating of the 
heart ; and who has not received all those other 
hundreds of noble impressions which we have 
drawn in as with our mother's milk ? I repeat 
it," he says, " without the Bible the education 
of the child in the present state of society is 
impossible." 

Strange, new, revolutionary, and impracticable 
as was Tolstoy's pedagogic activity, it worked 
untold good, and it was due not to his method 
or lack of it, but to his deep, pure, and unselfish 
love for every child that touched him. The 
school was a family, and it was remarkably 

170 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

fortunate in its father. Each child was to him a 
perfect work of the Creator ; he did not believe 
that it was " vile and full of sin." He believed 
implicitly, with One greater than himself, who 
put a little child in the midst, and said of it, 
" Except ye become as this little child, ye shall 
in no wise enter into the Kingdom of Heaven." 
That kingdom he considered the goal of the race ; 
and all education had to prepare for it, even if 
the child was not lifted one inch toward what 
men call progress. These simple thoughts were 
still wrapped in much philosophic verbiage ; but 
little by little they unwound themselves from 
their binding grave-clothes, to stand out clear 
and vivid, the goal of his own life as well as 
that of the human family, in which he was be- 
ginning to feel himself " the chief of sinners," 
and " not the least among the apostles." 



171 



CHAPTER XI 

"war and peace" 

It was no wonder that Tolstoy's health suffered 
during the period of his manifold activities. He 
was judge, teacher, farmer, journalist, and " last 
but not least," author. Quietly, like a miner in the 
depths, and just as painfully, he worked, gather- 
ing his material for a large historic novel which 
was to be called " The Decembrists," and based 
upon the suppressed political rising in December, 
1825, the year in which Nicholas I. ascended the 
throne. Tolstoy's personal acquaintance with 
some of the participants in the movement led 
him to the consideration of that theme. One chap- 
ter was written and the whole fairly well sketched 
when, in studying the period which led to this 
little upheaval, he came upon that great, dark, 
and terrible picture of the Napoleonic invasion. 
It so fascinated him, as it fascinates every one 
who reads the history of Russia or of France, 
that he cast aside the subject and the material 

172 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

of the first story and began his "War and 
Peace/' to which he gave five years of prepara- 
tion, but which was written and finished in a 
surprisingly short time. In November, 1864, he 
writes to "Fyett" : "I am much downcast and 
do not write at all ; nevertheless, I am working 
really painfully. You cannot imagine how hard 
this preparation is ; this deep plowing of the soil 
upon which I am driven to cast my seed. To con- 
sider and reconsider what will happen to these 
human beings of my story, which is to be a huge 
work, to think out millions of possibilities and 
then choose the millionth part of them, is tre- 
mendously difficult." 

In 1865 he could already announce to " Fyett " 
the completion of the first part ; and he writes 
thus : " These days there is being printed the 
first half of the first volume of my story. Please 
let me know what you think of it. You will see 
that everything that I have written thus far was 
only trivial ; but that which I have now written 
I think more of. I am glad that you like my 
wife, but alas ! I now love her less than I do 
my novels ; " and he adds, also jokingly, " The 
greater I grow, the less I love you." 

i73 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

In November, 1866, he writes again to this 
same friend, who was always a very conscientious 
critic, " In your last letter you tell me some very 
interesting things concerning my novel. I am 
quite satisfied by what you say of my hero Prince 
Andrey ; he is a tedious, monotonous fellow, and 
only in the first part is he comme il faut You 
are right about that, but it is my fault and not 
his. Besides the characters and their movements 
and meetings one with the other, I still have to 
work on the historic part, and I doubt that I shall 
be able to pull through. I have recognized my 
fault and hope that I have corrected it to your 
satisfaction. Please, dear friend, let me know 
just what you find wrong in my story. " 

In 1869 the work was finished ; and upon its 
publication it was hailed by Russian critics as the 
greatest novel of the nineteenth century. This 
was superlative praise, but praise in which readers 
and critics the world over almost unanimously 
agreed. His great talent is seen not only in the 
portraiture of classes and individuals, which is 
done with a rare fidelity, but by the ease with 
which the whole is written, and which nowhere 
betrays the fact that back of it is much hard study, 

i74 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and all through it the most painstaking labor. 
Turgenieff, who was not a biased critic, wrote 
of it : " ' War and Peace' is the most poetic and 
artistic, the most beautiful and complete work 
which has appeared in our literature." When an- 
other Russian critic writes that " the story has no 
rival in the whole world," we detect just a little 
exaggeration ; but he is perfectly right when he 
says : " This work is a splendid picture of the 
struggle of our whole nation. Marvelous is Tol- 
stoy's knowledge of the character of the Russian 
people, the clearness and purity of his views of 
life, and the historic and philosophic importance 
of his characters. He has reproduced the whole 
epoch to the satisfaction of the historians, who 
believe it to be scientifically correct." 

While the work has no scientific connection 
with his former stories, which were largely 
biographical, or at least of his own time, it 
is closely related to them. It represents Tol- 
stoy's mental and spiritual progress as he speaks 
now through one and now through another of 
his characters, many of whom were patterned 
after his relatives who had a part in that famous 
struggle. The critics, including Turgenieff, found 

i75 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

fault with his mysticism and with his emphasis 
upon religious and philosophical problems which 
are woven through this book, and which seem a 
little didactic and out of place. No one, however, 
can write a story of the Russian people without 
discussing these questions; especially during 
a crisis, when such thoughts filled the Russian 
mind. Napoleon was to the people the " Anti- 
christ," the war a punishment, and the victory 
the return of God's favor. Nearly everything 
which Napoleon did not destroy, be it a holy pic- 
ture, a shrine, or a monastery, has remained to 
them a proof of the divine miracle. To-day 
one may have pointed out to him, by fairly in- 
telligent people, a picture of the Virgin, in the 
Kreml, at which it is said a soldier shot, and the 
bullet was deflected in a miraculous way, killing 
the iconoclast himself. 

" War and Peace " is the history of three ar- 
istocratic families widely different from one 
another, but altogether making a composite pic- 
ture of Russian society. We see them in their 
palaces in St. Petersburg, in the fashionable 
salons of Moscow, in the seclusion of their coun- 
try homes. We meet them at the chase, in their 

176 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

social intrigues, in field and forest, in the draw- 
ing-room, and in the splendor of their feasts and 
festivals. Roused from their lethargy and weaned 
from their luxuries, we see them again on the 
battlefield in the thick of the fight, in camp by the 
flickering watch-fires, with their backs toward the 
victorious foe. In Moscow we see them once more 
starving and pale in the lurid light of that con- 
flagration which destroyed a city but saved a 
nation ; and at last in the deep, cold snow, the 
pall of the French army in its flight to France. 

Count Ilya Rostoff is that type of the Russian 
aristocrat, unfortunately not rare, who is born 
" bon-vivant and epicure." Everything which he 
does not care to study he dismisses and solves 
by saying : " Splendid." Of culture he knows no- 
thing, of gastronomy everything. The intricate 
mixture of a sauce, the roasting of a prairie 
chicken, are his fields of investigation, and 
with them his brain and teeth are busy. He has 
debts from which he will never be able to free 
himself, nor does he greatly care to do so. He 
reaches bottom very soon, but never ceases to 
be a good father, and (what is somewhat more 
remarkable in that sphere of Russian society), 

177 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

a faithful husband, although his wife is ill and 
exceedingly nervous. They have four children : 
Vera, Nikolai, Natasha, and little Petya. Nikolai 
is a soldier, somewhat stupid and slow, who sel- 
dom departs from a safe and well-beaten track. 
Natasha grows from playing with dolls to the 
longing for real love, a romantic but pure-minded 
and extremely affectionate child. " She was so 
happy after her first ball that she thought every 
human being good, and did not believe in the 
possibility of evil, misfortune, and sorrow." 

The Karagins, the second family, represent in 
the head of its household the materialistic aris- 
tocrat who measures everything by the stand- 
ard of its money value and its possibility of 
serving him for his own aggrandizement. Cold, 
calculating, and without feeling, he plays his part 
in life and plays it well. Of his two sons, one is 
stupid, and the other mad from excesses, think- 
ing only of new spoil for his pleasures. To him life 
is a series of entertainments which some one is 
in duty bound to provide for him. He is the 
logical son of such a father, and to be found to- 
day in countless editions in the pleasure haunts 
of which Moscow and St. Petersburg have a 

178 






\\wVs 
i\\\\\\ 



M 



TATYANA SEVORXA 
The oldest daughter 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

good share, and a poor type, and in which these 
sons scatter the fortunes of their fathers. The 
daughter Helene fits well into this atmosphere 
of the flesh, being a future adulteress, whom 
Napoleon splendidly characterized by saying : 
" Cest un superb animal." Pierre Besuchoff , the 
illegitimate son of ah exceedingly wealthy father, 
comes under the influence of Helene and her 
tricky relatives, and marries her after having 
inherited his father's millions and some forty 
thousand serfs. Pierre is near-sighted in more 
than one way, absent-minded and angular, seem- 
ing out of place in that society into which the 
Karagins have drawn him. He bluntly tells just 
what he thinks, nearly driving his diplomatic 
hostesses into desperation by his frankness. 

Far away from the tumult of the city and the 
fashionable crush of its salons, we meet Prince 
Bolkonsky, the head of the third family. He 
belongs to that real aristocracy, rare in every 
country, rarer in Russia ; an aristocracy which, it 
is true, is very proud, but which has good reason 
to be so. The Prince has been banished to his es- 
tate on account of his political ideas, and although 
the term of his exile has long passed, he remains 

179 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

just where he was sent ; for, he says, " If they 
want me at court, let them send for me." They 
do need him, and the chief dignitaries of 
Russia come and ask his assistance in the war 
then in progress. He is a man who is severe 
toward his subordinates, among whom one must 
count his daughter Marya, whom he loves in 
his haughty way, and who always prays, be- 
fore a meeting between herself and her father, 
that it may pass off peacefully. If she has 
a thought of rebellion she blames herself, and 
thinks that she has sinned. She is very homely, 
like nearly all the good people portrayed by Tol- 
stoy, who, if he were to paint or describe the 
Christ, would no doubt do so after the manner 
of the prophet Isaiah, as " A root out of a dry 
ground : he hath no form nor comeliness ; and 
when we shall see him, there is no beauty that 
we should desire him." But Marya with all her 
homeliness is beautiful, because out of her large 
blue eyes shines the love of Christ, " who suffered 
because he loved men, although he was God." 
Marya's aim and desire are to bless all who hate 
her and despitefully use her, and to serve all 
who need her. "For all the intricate laws of 

1 80 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

human society she finds a solution in the law of 
love and self-sacrifice/' Her brother Andrey is 
as proud as his father, but more ambitious. War 
is a field from which to mount to glory ; so he 
leaves his wife, with whom he is not very happy, 
and joins the staff of General Kutusoff . Splendid, 
and characteristic of father and son, is their 
parting. "Now, farewell." He turned his cheek 
to the son for a kiss, and embracing him said : 
" Remember this one thing, Prince Andrey : if 
you fall I shall suffer." He was silent a moment, 
then suddenly cried out : " But if I hear that you 
have not carried yourself like the son of Nikolai 
Bolkonsky, I shall be ashamed." "That you 
need not tell me, father," said the son, smiling. 
Wounded upon the battlefield, looking into the 
deep sky, he feels the presence of the unknown 
God, and becomes conscious of his own soul. He 
says, after reasoning much about it, "There is 
nothing so sure as the nothingness of everything 
which I have understood, and the greatness of 
that which I do not understand, but which is 
more important." Believed by his relatives to be 
dead, he returns at the critical moment when 
his wife gives birth to a son, and her own life 

181 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

passes into the great beyond. After that he 
buries himself on his estate, wishing to forget 
and be forgotten. Pierre, the husband of He- 
lene, is unhappy in another way ; his wife is not 
loyal to him, and he fights a duel with her para- 
mour. At the time when life seems such a great 
puzzle, and everything soulless and material as 
a stone, he meets a Freemason who attracts him 
by his ethical views, which are to him a revela- 
tion and which he accepts. He becomes an ar- 
dent member of the lodge, returns home, and 
visits Prince Andrey, whom he is able to awaken 
from his lethargy to a realization of his duty to 
his fellow men. Natasha Rostoff, whom Andrey 
loves, is nearly ruined by Anatol, Helene's bro- 
ther, and Pierre rescues her from the impending 
danger. Andrey returns to the field at Boro- 
dino, and the evening before the battle, appre- 
hensive as to its outcome, he looks back upon his 
life and sees clearly the vanity of all his ambi- 
tions. Coarse and crude seem those flights of his 
imagination which had always been so alluring 
to him — " Fame, patriotism, altruism, woman's 
love ; " and now everything pales before the white 
light of that morning which is rising for him. 

182 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

His apprehensions are justified, and he is severely 
wounded. While he is being cared for, he hears 
next to him weeping and lamentation, and re- 
cognizes Anatol, the would-be betrayer of Nata- 
sha ; but instead of hate, he feels love for him, 
in spite of the fact that he is his greatest en- 
emy. Instead of the feeling of revenge, there 
rises in him the feeling of pity, and he has an af- 
fection for all men, whom he now knows to be his 
brothers, whether they love or hate him. He feels 
the love and pity which his sister Marya had 
taught him, and which he never understood. Yes, 
he will live that love, but now it is too late ; yet 
not too late, for that divine love never ceases, 
never can be destroyed. " Love is the essence of 
the soul." He is taken back to Moscow, from 
which every one is fleeing. The Rostoffs are just 
leaving the city; and Natasha persuades her 
parents to take into their wagon some of the 
wounded soldiers, although to do so they must 
leave their valuables behind. Thus it happens 
that, by the light of the destructive fire which 
consumed Moscow, Natasha and her lover meet, 
not to part again until he succumbs to his 
wounds. Marya, his sister, and Natasha, through 

183 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

being together at his bedside, learn to love each 
other with that pure love which always emanated 
from Audrey's sister. 

Pierre is an idle looker-on at the battle of 
Borodino, but it has great consequences for him 
also. He is fired by the bravery of the Rus- 
sian soldiers, is roused from his indifference, and 
thinks that he will free his country by one 
stroke, — the assassination of Napoleon. Before 
he can come near the execution of his plans he 
is arrested, and is in danger of being executed 
as one of the incendiaries. In prison he meets a 
common Russian soldier, Platon Karatayeff , who 
through his conduct communicates to him a phi- 
losophy of life. " He lived in love," Tolstoy says 
of him. " Not in love to one certain person, but 
to all human beings whom he met. He loved 
his comrades, he loved the French, he loved 
Pierre, he loved even his little dog." Platon is 
shot by the French because he is incapable of 
marching ; but he continues to live in Pierre, who 
is a changed man. Natasha says of him to her 
friends, " He is so clean, so new, so fresh, as if 
he were coming out of a bath ; you understand, 
out of a moral bath." 

184 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

In this story, whose history unrolls itself in 
such an interesting and tragic way, and which 
ends happily in Pierre's marriage to Natasha, 
and Nikolai Rostoff 's to the Princess Marya, the 
characters are but the mouthpieces for Tolstoy's 
view of life, which was coming near the point of 
ripening into a definite philosophy, and of being 
formulated into a sociology. He says : " In nota- 
ble, historic movements, the so-called great men 
are the labels, which name events and periods ; 
but, just like the labels, they have the least to do 
with the events." To Tolstoy, the hero of former 
days, the man who reaped all the glory, and did 
nothing, had no right to exist. To him the masses 
were the real hero ; to him there is no science 
of warfare ; and victory and defeat, everything, 
rest upon unknown laws beyond the control of 
men. " Things happen because they must hap- 
pen ; " a fatalistic view of history which one finds 
it difficult to share with him. " War and Peace," 
aside from its artistic merit, is a great historic 
picture drawn vividly and impartially, without 
political bias. It is less valuable, although not 
less interesting, as a philosophical treatise in 
which Tolstoy struggles with the old problem of 

185 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

predestination and free will. It is of supreme 
importance, because Tolstoy discovers for us the 
mass, the common, unknown, unsung unit, which 
is moved, not by the will of man, but by that 
power which we call " Providence." He presses 
upon the attention of thinking men the new sci- 
ence, sociology. Above all, the book is of interest 
because all through it is the struggle of a great 
soul trying to understand the meaning of life. 
After all the attempts to unravel the tangled 
web of crossing thoughts, he says, through the 
lips of Prince Andrey, " Faith is the power of 
life." When a man lives, he must believe in 
something. If he did not believe that he must 
live for something, he would die. Without faith 
it is impossible for man to live. 

One who reads this book for the interesting 
story which it tells would gladly dispense with 
its sociology and philosophy ; one who considers 
the work solely from its artistic standpoint finds 
Tolstoy's views obtrusive, and marring the beauty 
of the whole; but they belong to the autobio- 
graphy of the author's soul, and without them 
the " Life of Tolstoy," which he is writing into 
every story, would not be complete. 

1 86 



CHAPTER XII 



"anna karenina" 



Any man who was concerned about his literary 
career as such would have continued the writing 
of historic novels, after the phenomenal success 
of "War and Peace." Tolstoy, however, was 
being more and more absorbed by the problem of 
his own life, and to entangle it again into historic 
events was much too irksome ; nor did it quite 
harmonize with his view of the province of his art. 
He had written a few chapters of the discarded 
" Decembrists/' and had begun to study the life 
of Peter the Great, in preparation for a story 
dealing with that period ; but although he gave 
a whole year to this latter task, he suddenly 
dropped both subjects and began his "Anna 
Karenina." 

The story has no large historic background, 
and we are never taken out of the domain of 
that small world which calls itself by the ge- 
neric name, " society " ; a domain which Tolstoy 

187 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

now knew better, and loved less than ever. Weak, 
vacillating creatures they are whom he drew : 
strong only in maintaining certain worldly stand- 
ards, and outwardly eager to do the proper 
thing, while leading a decidedly improper life. 
He came in touch with them every day : Betsy 
Tverskaya, who with one hand holds on to the 
court and with the other digs in the moral mire ; 
Stepan Arkadyevitsch Oblonsky, who believes 
that the " purpose of education is to get plea- 
sure out of everything/' and who manages to do 
so, in spite of the fact that poor Dolly, his wife, 
grows prematurely old and wrinkled, and has 
her life almost ruined because he does not know 
the meaning of the seventh commandment. 

Then there is Vronsky, who falls in love with 
Anna, the heroine of the story, the wife of a 
disagreeable but conscientious official. Vronsky 
has an exaggerated sense of that kind of honor 
which prevails more or less in all military and 
aristocratic circles. He believes that he must 
pay his gambling debts, but that the poor tailor 
may wait ; he believes that it is wrong to cheat 
at cards, but thinks it perfectly proper to run 
away with another man's wife. These charac- 

188 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ters Tolstoy met daily in his social intercourse ; 
he felt them as influences in his own life, and 
he struggled against them and conquered them. 
The plot of " Anna Karenina " is the simplest 
possible ; although there are really two stories 
in one, side by side, and touching each other at 
many points. The one story is that of Levin, a 
homely, angular, country-bred aristocrat, who is, 
nevertheless, thoroughly democratic and feels 
himself one with the people. To love or not to 
love them is not a question for him, because he 
is a part of them ; nor could he criticise the bad 
or praise the good, because he could draw no 
contrasts between them and himself. He works 
with the peasants, eats his bread in the sweat of 
his brow as they eat, often wondering whether 
he ought not to throw aside all the past, its 
inheritance and achievements, and in reality be- 
come a peasant. The city is to him a Sodom and 
Gomorrah, a modern Babylon ; and all his natu- 
ralness and buoyancy leave him as he comes in 
touch with its life. He feels keenly the social 
lies and insincerities which manifest themselves 
at calls and balls ; consequently he is not a good 
conversationalist or courtier. He blushes like a 

189 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

girl when an impure subject is broached ; for he 
is not half so bad as the young and old men 
around him. He is in love with Kitty, a beauti- 
ful, but in no way an extraordinary girl, whom 
he adores with a pure and noble passion, and 
finally marries. They move to his estate, and 
although the supermundane bliss of which he 
dreamed does not quite materialize, they " live 
happily ever after." In great contrast to this 
natural and idyllic life is that of Anna Kare- 
nina, who lives in the world and is of it ; whose 
husband is cold, exacting, lifeless, and loveless ; 
" for whom the word love would not exist, if it 
were not in the dictionary." The moral atmo- 
sphere which Anna breathes is poisonous, and 
she has no hold upon anything but her child. 
She does not love her husband, who is sixteen 
years older than herself ; religion is absent from 
her world, and where it is present it is either 
hypocritically servile or mystical and false. She 
meets Vronsky, the young cavalier, who has 
beauty, youth, and strength, but no character; 
although in his world this last quality is of the 
least importance. He and Anna seem drawn 
together by some unseen force, and the newly 

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TOLSTOY THE MAN 

awakened love is like an uncontrollable fire 
which burns all bridges behind them. They go 
abroad together, love each other, and quarrel 
with each other. Returning to Russia, the ties 
by which Anna holds him grow weaker ; con- 
scious of this and the loss of her position in 
society, which closes its doors to her, she throws 
herself under a passing train. She is tempted 
to this mode of ending her life by the memory 
of having first met Vronsky at a railroad sta- 
tion, when the maimed body of a workingman 
was drawn from under the wheels of the en- 
gine. 

Somewhat in the background, but not indiffer- 
ently or indefinitely drawn, is the character of 
Dolly, who is small, wrinkled, pale, and insignifi- 
cant, between the splendid Anna and the lovely 
Kitty. In her mended jacket, with her faded 
hair and complexion, she arouses one's pity as 
she listens to Anna, who narrates to her the story 
of her downfall. She is the personification of 
common, every-day virtue, which "has its own 
reward " of pain, tears, and poverty. Her hus- 
band falls as low as, and lower than, Anna ; but, 
man-like, he has no twinges of conscience, and 

191 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

is unhappy only when, through the discovery of 
his fall, the household machinery jars. Dolly is 
a sort of feminine Tolstoy, and his real heroine. 
Through a peasant "who lives for his soul 
and believes in God," Levin discovers the way 
to the life eternal. Faith saves him and his, and 
makes his home a center of happiness and a 
spring of life. On the other side is the home of 
Anna Karenina, in which there is no love, but 
only unsatisfied passion ; no thought of the soul 
and so much thought for the body ; no truth, but 
every word a deception and a lie ; no true mar- 
riage, but what is really only adultery. Such 
a home has in it the seeds of death ; and such a 
life, which was lived only for the flesh, must also 
"of the flesh reap corruption." Levin's soul- 
life is with but little change taken from Tolstoy's 
own experience at this stage of his life. Levin's 
progress from unbelief to belief begins at the 
deathbed of his brother, and ends when he learns 
the power of faith and the secret of prayer. 
Faith comes to him without blinding him as it 
did Paul, or making him ecstatic as it did Peter, 
at Pentecost. Faith has not taken away his old 
happiness, nor has it overwhelmed him by a new 

192 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

one. He does not know whether it is faith or not; 
but a new power has come into his life, has com- 
forted him and brought him peace. He knows 
that he will remain a man, a human man with 
many of his old passions and desires ; he will still 
be angry with his peasants, and will never be 
out of the reach of temptation. " I shall never 
quite understand the meaning of prayer," he 
says : " but I shall always pray, and my whole 
life shall be independent of the things which 
happen to me. I shall live no thoughtless minute 
as before ; but I shall implant into each moment 
a positive good." 

Although Tolstoy values this story so little, and 
was very eager to be done "with this tedious 
Anna Karenina," it marks the height of his 
artistic power. It is written with much human 
passion, and in the hands of a man with lower 
moral ideals and less artistic skill it might have 
proved dangerous material. It is realistic to the 
core, because Russian society is realistic ; it has not 
a trace of Anglo-Saxon prudery, but calls a spade 
a spade, and does not blush at it or stumble over 
it. Tolstoy's realism differs from its Russian 
namesake, imported from France, in being blunt, 

i93 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

plain-spoken, and unscented. Sin may be plea- 
sant, but it is never beautiful or harmless ; and 
any one who reads the motto which he has writ- 
ten over this novel, " Vengeance is mine, saith 
the Lord/' and who understands his plain speech, 
must know that his realism is as vital as that of 
the prophets and seers, and that it is not the 
literary form of decadence. He began the story 
already knowing the end. From the moment 
when Anna and Vronsky meet each other with 
an impure thought which becomes uncontrol- 
lable, the reader knows what the end will be. 
No matter where they are or what they do, 
whether they meet in secret or openly, whether 
they go to Italy to study art or return to Russia 
to improve an estate, whether they eat or drink, 
ride or dance, the shadow never leaves them, and 
vengeance is expected ; nor does it delay its 
coming. Only a very perverted or immature mind 
can find in any of Tolstoy's stories the slightest 
encouragement to commit sin. 

While "Anna Karenina" was written with 
much physical vigor, and practically at the prime 
of Tolstoy's manhood, it was written with the 
greatest moral passion. He was beginning a new 

194 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

career and seeking a new purpose for his life. 
The faith in God which in the story is still inde- 
finite, was ripening into God-knowledge ; and his 
search after some solution of the pressing pro- 
blems was being rewarded by his finding it in the 
Gospel of Jesus, whose apostle he was to be, 
whose life he was to try to live, and whose pre- 
cepts he was to teach. "Anna Karenina" was 
written at this strategic juncture ; and it marks 
the parting of the ways and the beginning of 
the new life. A story written in such an atmo- 
sphere, and which has behind it such moral 
struggles, cannot be, and is not in the least, 
impure. There are portions of it in which we 
should like to soften the realism, and from which 
we should be glad to expurgate the seemingly 
unnecessary details of which the Anglo-Saxon 
does not speak in public ; but Tolstoy could not 
always stop to clothe naked Russian truth in 
English tailor-made words, and we shall have to 
read him in unexpurgated editions or not read 
him at all. His characters, of which many crowd 
the small canvas, are clear, plain, living, every- 
day creatures ; but always types of social and cul- 
tural development. None of them is put there 

i95 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

without a purpose, whether he says or does much 
or little. Each one is a symbol of something good 
or evil, something to be chosen or avoided. Tol- 
stoy's narrative is as simple as his plot. He never 
stops to analyze character, but he describes in the 
simplest way the life of a man, never forgetting 
the slightest details. He does this with such 
frankness and acuteness that the character is re- 
vealed from the first moment, and one is never in 
doubt "whether it is good, or whether it is evil." 
As in " Anna Karenina," so in nearly every one 
of his novels, there are really two stories : the one 
taken from the life around him, full of varied 
human interests, never commonplace, always 
highly dramatic, but not theatrical, and full of 
poetry which is seldom sweet but always rugged ; 
a story which is fiction based upon the experi- 
ence of others. The other one has all through his 
works the same hero, sometimes under one name, 
sometimes under another ; it tells little of ex- 
ternal things, but much of that which happens 
within the soul. It is philosophic and didactic 
rather than dramatic and poetical, and is not 
fiction but history, — the history of Tolstoy. He 
does this, not because he feels himself so impor- 

196 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

tant, but because he desires to know of what value 
he is to the world, among those others with whom 
he lives. He knows himself better than any one 
else knows him. His self -analysis is keen, open, 
and often seemingly unjust ; but unjust only be- 
cause we are not used to dealing so honestly with 
ourselves, and because perfectly honest biogra- 
phies are rare outside of the Bible. As an artist 
he wrote what he saw in others, and what he 
experienced through them in mind and heart ; 
as a judge, physician, philosopher, and preacher, 
he wrote what he saw in himself from his earliest 
youth ; and as he hid nothing from himself so he 
hid nothing from the public, which was to him 
not an audience but a judgment hall. So, more 
and more, the artist gave place to the soul bio- 
grapher ; much to the chagrin of the critics and 
perhaps of the reading public in general, which 
always cared more for the story-teller than for 
the prophet and seer. 



197 



CHAPTER XIII 

TOLSTOY'S CONFESSION AND CONVERSION 

In January, 1881, Countess Tolstoy wrote to her 
brother : " You would not know Leo, he is so 
changed ; he has become a Christian and he re- 
mains one, so steadfast and true." Back of this 
simple statement of Tolstoy's conversion, for 
such it must be called, in spite of the fact that 
the word has become commonplace and almost 
meaningless in Protestant America, — back of 
this conversion lie long years of conflict such as 
few souls have experienced. It was a con- 
flict of spirit which became so painful that it 
drew the body into its comradeship of suffering, 
and the whole man was undone. Had Tolstoy 
been less rationalistic, or had he been born in a 
climate where the sun burns poetry into each 
human thought, he would have described the 
birth of his soul as a miracle, which might have 
found a place in the traditions of the church and 
earned him a " handle " for his name and a halo 

198 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

for his head. By his keen, plain, truthful speech, 
he reveals to us the whole inner process, yet 
without making it less a miracle, if that may be 
defined as something which lies out of the ordi- 
nary human experience, and which cannot be 
apprehended by the senses. It is true that dur- 
ing Tolstoy's whole life he had struggles with 
himself and his surroundings ; but they came at 
long intervals, and served in no small measure to 
stimulate his artistic faculty, although they left 
him spiritually just where he was before. Mos- 
cow society accepted his moralizing under the 
cover of fiction, just as it accepts the fiction 
which has no cover and no morals. In spite of his 
love for the peasants, his altruistic schemes, and 
his pedagogic journal, he had serious lapses into 
aristocratic Russia, and Prince Obolensky wrote 
in his memoirs : " Very often I met Count Tol- 
stoy at Peter Samarine's, where there was much 
society, and where hunts and races were organ- 
ized. Tolstoy was then (1870) not a philosopher 
as now, but a jolly enthusiastic sportsman as well 
as a splendid conversationalist, and his quarrels 
were always interesting." 

The happiness which Tolstoy found in his 

199 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

marriage did not give him that hold upon life 
nor the self-control that he expected from it. 
His passions were not dead, nor was his thirst 
quenched, nor were his ambitions stilled by the 
new life, although his wife brought into it all 
that he could reasonably expect. She loved him 
as passionately as he loved her, and perhaps less 
fitfully, after the manner of women ; she looked 
carefully to the ways of her household, and was 
indeed the ideal of Lemuel's mother: "The 
heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, 
so that he shall have no need of spoil." She was 
economical because Tolstoy never was, and she 
was ambitious for him because he had ceased to 
be so. He was more or less swayed by her per- 
fectly human and rational ideals, and in a letter 
to " Fyett," written in 1873, he speaks of her 
influence over him. On the eve of his greatest 
soul struggle he says : " Every day for nearly a 
whole week I have been sitting for the painter 
Kramskai, who is doing my portrait for the 
Treytiokof sky gallery. I have consented to do it 
because the artist himself came and promised my 
wife that as a return for the favor he would 
paint one for us cheaper ; and my wife persuaded 

200 




Drawn by J. Repin 

COUNT LEO TOLSTOY 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

me." This last phrase does sound as if the 
story of our first parents were not altogether 
fictitious ; but it is just possible that Tolstoy was 
not so willing a victim as was Adam. He him- 
self says of that period : " The new conditions in 
a happy home life drew me away entirely from 
seeking to find the common purpose of life. My 
whole being was centered in my wife and chil- 
dren, and for their sakes in care for the enlarge- 
ment of my means to carry on the increasing 
household." He was so happy that, " If a good 
fairy had come down from some strange world 
and asked me if there were anything I wished 
for, I could not have thought of anything to ask." 
Fifteen such years passed, during which his 
home, his schools, and his new books bade fair to 
drive away those higher aspirations and silence 
his questioning soul ; yet the inner strife never 
ceased, for it manifests itself in his writings and 
in his letters to his friends, which sound much 
more serious than ever. " You are ill," he writes, 
" and think of death, but I am well, and must 
constantly think of it." And again, soon after 
this : " For the first time you talk to me of God 
and of divine things ; but I have been thinking 

20 1 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

of these questions for a long time. Don't say 
that one cannot think about them ; one not only 
can, but one must. At all times the best men, 
that is, the true men, have thought about them, 
and if it can't be done as you say, we must find 
some way in which it can be done. Have you 
ever read Pascal ? " 

A more positive and definite evidence of a 
coming change appears a little later, when he 
writes : " Although I love you as you are, I am a 
little displeased with you because like Martha, 
' You are cumbered with much serving ' when 
i But one thing is necessary/ The mere joy of 
living is too great in you ; when some day the 
thread of life threatens to break, it will go hard 
with you. I have no interest in life, and nothing 
seems to matter." The question of the purpose 
of life, to which he had to cling whether he cared 
to or not, grew slowly to be the all-absorbing 
one. He says of this time: "Something very 
strange happened to me. I had moments of great 
doubt, when life itself seemed to come to a 
standstill. I did not know how I should live or 
what I should do. I lost my balance and became 
melancholy. At first this occurred at long inter- 

202 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

vals, and I took up old habits again ; then it 
happened oftener ; but at the time that I fin- 
ished writing ' Anna Karenina' my despair was 
so great that I could not do anything but think 
of the dreadful condition in which I found my- 
self." He sought, asked, and knocked in all 
directions, and received no answer. " But I must 
know/' he writes. " Before I can trouble myself 
about my estate or my children or the writing 
of books, I must know why I do it. Before I 
know that, I can do nothing ; I cannot live." 

The thought of self-destruction came upon 
him with a strange force, and he had to hide 
everything which might have suggested suicide. 
As the sight of a rope roused in him the desire 
to end his life, so the sight of wife and children 
made him wish to cling to it. " I tried with all 
my might to break away from life, just as for- 
merly I endeavored to make my life better." All 
this came to him in his prime, in the midst of 
what men call happiness ; he was a proud father, 
the owner of a large estate, and at the zenith of 
his literary career. He was physically so strong 
that he could do a day's work in the harvest-field 
without fatigue ; while mentally he felt himself 

203 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

sound, and able to stay eight or ten hours at 
his desk. Yet he cared not to exist unless he 
knew the purpose of his life. He turned from 
science and from modern culture with a feeling 
of repulsion ; for he felt the inability of the first 
to solve the really important problems of life, 
and the hollowness and falseness of the second, 
if one were honest enough to penetrate its fine 
veneer. Like a questioning Job he stood before 
the awful something, uttering his complaint, and 
the answers of Socrates, Buddha, and Schopen- 
hauer were like the stereotyped phrases of Job's 
friends, who tried to heal his hurt by common- 
place words. Not unlike King Solomon, having 
tasted of all that the world could give him, Tol- 
stoy cries out : " Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." 
" What profit hath a man of all his* labor which 
he taketh under the sun ? One generation pass- 
eth away and another generation cometh, but 
the earth abideth forever." He turned to the men 
and women of his acquaintance, studying them 
carefully to see how they looked upon this ques- 
tion which had brought him to the verge of de- 
spair, and he found that they had four ways out 
of the difficulty. One was the way of ignorance. 

204 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

They did not know that such a question ever 
penetrated a human brain ; they sipped honey 
until something called their attention to the bit- 
terness of death, and then they suddenly ceased 
to sip honey. He could not unlearn what he knew, 
and consequently could not learn from the igno- 
rant. The second way was that of crushing the 
question in the pleasures of life. " Eat, drink, 
and be merry, for to-morrow thou shalt die ; " or, 
in the preacher's words which he quotes : "There 
is nothing better for a man than that he should 
eat and drink, and that he should make his soul 
enjoy good in his labor." The wealth which 
these people have, the pleasures in which they 
indulge, bring about a moral torpor which makes 
them forget that there are such things as sick- 
ness, age, or death. The third way was that of 
suicide ; ending life, when one recognizes that it 
is vanity. This was a way out of the difficulty 
which Tolstoy at that time thought the most 
honorable and dignified. The fourth way was that 
of weakness; to know that life as one under- 
stands it is vanity, yet still continuing it, as if 
waiting for something better, which never comes, 
and always eating, drinking, and writing books 

205 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

as he was doing. He finds no answer among the 
men of his class, and yet, he says, there are 
millions and millions of men who never think 
that their lives have no purpose, who in contrast 
to the restlessness of the ruling minority are 
calm and quiet, who in spite of hardship, hunger, 
and cold, have a peace of soul and a harmony of 
spirit which those do not possess who have 
wealth, knowledge, leisure, and pleasure. Where 
do they find the power to live and endure ? and 
now Tolstoy finds the answer: "Faith is the 
power of their lives." Faith is the certainty 
that human life has a purpose, a certainty 
through which these human beings live ; so he 
went about seeking it, and was ready to accept 
any faith which did not ask for the denial of 
reason : " For that would have been a lie." He 
studied Buddhism, Mohammedanism, but above 
all, Christianity, its books and its followers. This 
study of religions was not a superficial one ; it 
was so thorough that he knew not only their 
principles, but he caught also the peculiar flavor 
and poetry of each. 

In the study of Christianity he turned first to 
the people of his own position in society who 

206 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

were commonly called Christians. He talked 
with priests, monks, and theologians of the or- 
thodox and liberal type ; but he found that their 
faith had nothing to do with their lives ; that 
it was a thing wholly apart, that they clung to it 
for one cause or another, but not for the great 
reason of finding an answer to the question of 
the purpose of life. He also found what he knew 
before — that their lives were wholly at variance 
with their professions. As he found this among 
priests and laymen alike, he turned his attention 
to the peasants, in whom he had long suspected 
that he would find the real treasure. He stood 
on the highway which led past Yasnaya Polyana, 
and talked to the pilgrims who went to Kieff or 
to Jerusalem. He talked to them as few men of 
his station could talk ; he spoke to them like a 
brother; like a child who was going to school 
to these other children, the Russian peasantry. 
And they talked to him as they would not have 
talked to any other nobleman. They looked out of 
their frank, open eyes into his, and revealed to 
him the secret of their souls, which really was 
no secret ; for they revealed it in their lives and 
looks. 

207 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

These people had what he sought — a life in 
harmony with their faith. " To them life and 
death are in God's hand, and death is the en- 
trance into life eternal. They do not fear the 
mice which gnaw at the root to which they cling, 
and when they lose their hold they go into the 
depths without a murmur." Tolstoy learned to 
love and appreciate the peasants more and more, 
and for two years he prepared himself for the 
next step ; that of ceasing to live like a parasite 
and of giving his life a meaning, by labor and 
by faith. He began to seek God, and realized 
that he failed to find him, not because he was 
not reasoning right, but because he was living 
wrong. He knew that there must be a God, 
although philosophy taught him that one could 
not prove his existence. He ardently prayed for 
a vision of that God whom he sought with all 
his heart, but there was no answer, until one 
day in the spring-time as he was walking through 
the woods which surround his estate, and was 
listening to the music of the awakening life in 
the tree-tops, this came to him like a revelation : 
" I can live only when I believe in God ; when I 
do not believe I feel as if I must die. What seek 

208 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

I further ? Without him I cannot live. To know 
God and to live are the same thing. God is life." 
Something within him seemed to say : " Live 
seeking God then, for there is no life without 
him." " It grew brighter around me and within 
me, and that light has never left me." 

Thus Tolstoy was saved from despair and sui- 
cide ; and just as gradually as the thought of 
self-destruction had come, so now came the 
thought of life, to abide with him forever. And, 
strange to say, this new faith and this power to 
live were really not something new, but the 
old faith and the old power which were in him 
when as a child he grew conscious of life. It 
was only a returning to the belief of his child- 
hood — to the belief that the purpose of life was 
to be in harmony with the Divine Will ; but with 
this difference : that formerly he had felt this 
unconsciously, while now he knew that he could 
not live without that trust in God. He compared 
his condition with that of a boy who was put into 
a boat, he knew not when or where. Some one 
showed him the direction of the other shore, put 
oars into his unskilled hands, and left him alone. 
He rowed as best he could row, and made some 

209 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

progress, but the farther he went, the stronger 
became the current, which carried him far away 
from that other shore. Around him he found in 
increasing numbers those who, like him, were 
being carried away by the current. Some were 
throwing away the oars in despair, some strug- 
gled against the stream, others again, drifted 
along. The farther he rowed the more he forgot 
the shore which had been pointed out to him, 
until at last he let go of the oars in utter hope- 
lessness. The jolly crews of surrounding boats 
assured him that their way was the only right 
one ; and he, believing, rowed with them until he 
heard the roar of the rapids and saw the de- 
struction of their boats. Suddenly, in his agony, 
he remembered the other bank and pulled back 
to it, although the wind was against him. " The 
shore was God, and the oars were the liberty 
given me to find my way back to the shore 
and be with God." 

With all the zeal of a convert who finds the 
truth late in life, he turns to the Church, prays 
devoutly, fasts as often as is decreed, goes to 
confession, and takes Holy Communion. But 
soon new doubts creep in, and as might have 

210 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

been foreseen, his questioning mind cannot be 
silenced, and, "Why do I do this?" and, "Why 
do I do that ? " he hears ringing in his ears at 
every service which he attends. The forms, which 
in the Greek Church are so numerous and so seem- 
ingly stupid, repel him because they have no vital 
connection with life, and the oft-recurring holy- 
days have no meaning. They celebrated things 
which he could not believe ; another matter which 
made him stumble was, that the Church was 
then praying for the victory of the Russian army 
over the Turks. He asked himself : " How can 
one do that when Christ says, 'Love your 
enemies ' ? " Again he thought of those words, 
when Alexander III. ascended the throne with 
vengeance in his heart against his father's 
murderers. Tolstoy interceded for them in the 
name of Christ ; nevertheless they were executed, 
and their death was approved by the Church 
and its priests. New doubts arose as he came to 
study Church history. So many churches, so 
many claims to infallibility ; and how difficult it 
was to say which was right and which was wrong. 
He said : " All of them contain truth and false- 
hood, but I must find the truth." He searches 

211 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the Scriptures, in which all profess to believe, he 
studies them ardently ; and like Luther he finds 
the truth in the Gospels, which he recognizes 
as the source of all life. As he studies these 
Gospels, a new vista opens before him, and he 
sees the Kingdom of God, which is so different 
from the kingdoms of this world, political and 
ecclesiastical. 

The call into this Kingdom, which comes to him 
unmistakably and clearly, he immediately obeys. 
Like the disciples who "left their nets and 
followed him," he was ready to leave everything 
he possessed — more valuable indeed than fish- 
nets and boats. To him, to know means to obey ; 
to believe means to live ; and obediently he con- 
forms to the teachings of Jesus as he interprets 
them. His money he will give to the poor, his 
life is to be the simplest, his bread is to be 
earned by the sweat of his face ; and if the art 
which he forsakes again presses the pen into his 
hand, it shall be consecrated to the preaching of 
that truth which put meaning and value into 
the life which was so meaningless and valueless 
that he was ready to throw it away. 



212 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE LIFE AS AN INFLUENCE 

The story of Tolstoy's conversion was carried 
into all corners of the earth and into strata of 
society which had never known of him as an 
author, or realized the moral import of his 
stories. It seemed that the world had been 
waiting for a man who would not only interpret 
the Gospel rationally, but live it radically ; and 
Yasnaya Polyana at once became a new holy 
shrine to which pilgrims from afar came by the 
hundreds. Letters poured in upon Tolstoy in such 
numbers that it was found possible to answer only 
comparatively few. Many of those who crowded 
around him at that time came because, like him, 
they had puzzled over the great question of life, 
and desired to hear from his own lips how it 
was answered. Others, burdened by their sins, 
came to repent, and others again came with 
strange heartaches to find here their relief. 
Many of those who went to him found, after 

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TOLSTOY THE MAN 

doing farm labor for a few days, that sore 
muscles would not heal sore hearts, and that 
carrying water from the pond did not lift bur- 
dens from the conscience. So they returned to 
the world which they had left, with mixed feel- 
ings toward the physician whom they could not 
help admiring, but whose medicine they found 
too strong. 

A very small but important minority remained 
to labor, and after leaving Tolstoy, took up life 
even more severely than he was living it. Among 
them were Prince Chilykoff, who sacrificed his 
millions, Vladimir Tshertkoff and Paul Biryu- 
koff, who are living in exile on account of their 
avowed Tolstoyan tendencies, and who in Geneva 
and London are publishing Russian newspa- 
pers, whose spirit is in harmony with the teach- 
ing of their master. Beside these there were 
numbers of the nameless ones who were " desti- 
tute, afflicted, tormented, and of whom the world 
was not worthy." Most interesting is the fact 
that, like a new Messiah, he drew to himself a 
large number of thinking Jews, some of whom 
organized communities according to his prin- 
ciples. One of these is that of Mr. Femerman 

214 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and Mr. Butkyevitch, in the district of Cherson, 
in southern Russia. Others, emulating Tolstoy's 
example, forsook their bartering to begin tilling 
the soil ; and the best Jewish colony in Palestine 
was recruited from Jewish university students 
of Odessa and Moscow, who were " Tolstoy mad," 
as they expressed it. The Jews came to Yas- 
naya in goodly numbers to see a man who was 
really living the Christian life, not merely 
preaching it ; and under the influence of that life 
they accepted the Christian faith. At first Tol- 
stoy encouraged the baptizing of one or two of 
them into the Greek Church ; but he always 
expresses himself as regretting this act. If he 
had had Jewish blood in his veins, he would have 
found it difficult to prevent his being declared the 
Jewish Messiah. As it is, he has been the first 
Russian who has interpreted Christianity to the 
Jew in terms which he could accept, and in a 
form that has nothing of the idolatry of the 
Greek Church, which is the greatest barrier to 
the Jew's acceptance of the Christian religion. 
Tolstoy was besieged by over-anxious mothers, 
who accused him of bringing pressure to bear 
upon their sons, who had developed the " Tolstoy 

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TOLSTOY THE MAN 

disease " ; and he and all his followers were con- 
sidered ripe for the lunatic asylum. It even hap- 
pened that in some instances men who returned 
to their estates, to live according to Tolstoy's 
teachings, were declared insane, while others 
were sent to prison and into exile. But Tolstoy 
was neither the organizer of a movement nor a 
zealous propagandist. He did not care whether 
he had followers or not ; and when men and women 
came to worship him, he would say in the lan- 
guage of the Angel of the Apocalypse, " See thou 
do it not, — worship God ; " and when they called 
him Master, he said : " One is your Master, even 
Christ." When they called him Teacher, he 
answered : " Call no man Rabbi." He did preach 
to every man who came ; if he were rich he took 
him into the woods and looked into his soul with 
his piercing but kindly eyes, saying repeatedly 
and insistently : " Sell all thou hast and give to 
the poor." When the mighty and strong came 
and asked what to do to be saved, he would 
tell them : " Thou shalt not kill." When the spir- 
itually blind came he repeated Christ's words : 
" Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
God." 

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TOLSTOY THE MAN 

To the Socialists, with their grievances and 
schemes, Tolstoy said : " For man shall not live 
by bread alone." He was indeed a "Gospel 
Preacher," so narrow that he saw salvation in 
nothing but in the teachings of Jesus, and so 
broad that he saw salvation for all who followed 
the Christ, no matter to what church they be- 
longed, or whether they belonged to any. While 
he did not shrink from accepting the conse- 
quences of his teachings for himself, he did not 
force others to do so, and to a friend who found 
it difficult to part from his land he writes thus : 
"Do not mind what the world will say about 
your retaining your property ; it is a question 
which concerns you alone ; and if your conscience 
does not condemn you, do just as you have 
planned." 

In his family circle he was tolerant, allowing 
each member of it the fullest liberty. Only two 
of his children believed as he believed, but after 
a while they also, like so many others, found the 
path too rugged, and "thenceforth they walked 
no more with him." Strangers came and offered 
him their wealth and their services, but he al- 
ways warned them against too hasty action, and 

217 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

never accepted their money, while more than 
once he sent men back into their former callings. 
He could also quickly detect the motive which 
brought men to him, and would startle them by 
his keen perception. When a man came bur- 
dened by a great sorrow, and offered himself for 
some service without having consciously revealed 
the cause of his coming, Tolstoy said to him: 
" Go home, and after your great sorrow has spent 
itself, come again." A young Russian teacher, 
repelled by his vocation and inspired by Tolstoy 
ideals, came to him, and he generously said : " Go 
back to your desk, you are doing more good than 
I am." Every one who came, he received gra- 
ciously, and although his time was more than 
fully occupied, he gave of it unstintingly to all 
who asked for it. 

The writer of this volume remembers his first 
pilgrimage to him, as a young, enthusiastic stu- 
dent, who had suffered spiritual shipwreck, and 
saw in Tolstoy the refuge and the harbor. He 
will never forget how this man, who himself 
had struggled through, listened to the unripe 
thoughts of a boy who could scarcely express him- 
self — one who, when he began to speak, hardly 

218 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

knew just why he had come there. In common 
with others, he felt the magic of that personality 
which loosened the emotions ; but which held one's 
tongue the tighter. No priest ever received more 
honest confession than Tolstoy received ; for lying 
in his presence was an impossibility. Many men 
after a first conversation have come back and said : 
" I am sorry, but I have not told the whole truth." 
Some people have been repelled by him, but they 
were those who went to him as they might have 
gone to the Pyramids, the battlefield of Waterloo, 
or to some wonderful freak museum. Rude he 
never was, although many a time his visitors 
were as inconsiderate of him as they are of his- 
toric places ; and only his being very much alive 
saved him from being carried away bodily by 
relic hunters. 

It is true that in Yasnaya Polyana the curious 
had much to see which seemed not a little queer 
to them. Here was a man steeped in the culture 
of his time, wealthy and highly talented, yet wear- 
ing a peasant's coat and doing a peasant's work. 
They laughed not a little when they caught a 
glimpse of this intellectual giant mending his 
shoes, when, as they argued, he might have made 

219 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

much money, or created some work of art with 
those fingers which drew the waxed thread so 
unskillfully through an old shoe which was not 
worth the mending. They did not realize that 
this laborer Count, this shoemaker author, was 
trying to mend a rent in human society as well 
as the rent in his shoes. From afar they watched 
him, as by a mighty effort he followed his pea- 
sants, cutting rye and oats, " eating his bread in 
the sweat of his face " under the trees which 
edge the village fields ; and they said : " What 
a foolish thing for a man to do, — a man who 
might grace any society by his presence, enhance 
its pleasure by his conversation, or influence men 
by his thoughts.'' They little realized that this 
man was cutting a swath like that of the giant 
reaper of whom the peasants tell ; who leveled 
forests by one sweep of his mighty scythe. Tol- 
stoy was followed by other reapers, and will still 
be followed in those fields ripe for the harvest. 
Each autumn will bring men nearer to the golden 
days of the Kingdom of God. He was himself 
unconscious of the power of his example, nor did 
he realize the oddity of his position. He was not 
" playing to the galleries," to use the phrase of 

220 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the street ; he was not playing at all ; he was 
simply living his faith with an unconscious 
intensity. His rugged face, with its mixture of 
peasant and noble, received a new and strange ex- 
pression. Its strength became suffused by tender- 
ness, and none could look into that countenance 
without being conscious not only of the man's san- 
ity but also of his sanctity. Seeing him, one lost 
all thought of the strangeness of his position ; 
for everything blended with his nature harmoni- 
ously. It was the harmony which follows a great 
struggle ; it was not stagnation, for the man was 
still full of vital thoughts, and the strength of 
his body, mind, and soul seemed inexhaustible, 
making one feel the influence of that power. 

If the crowds which gathered in Yasnaya 
Polyana had been asked, "What went ye out for 
to see?" or, "What have ye seen?" they could 
have given no intelligent answer. They saw a 
man who, like the Baptist, was not clothed in 
soft raiment, yet in those earlier days one could 
scarcely escape the thought that the peasant's 
garb which he wore was very becoming, and that 
he knew it. He was homely, like the heroes of 
all his stories ; the f ac$ was angular, the features 

221 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

were unmodeled and sharp, but the whole gave 
the impression of great force. He was a piece of 
original material in which all the possibilities 
of human nature lodged in their fullness. One 
realized that he could have been as cold and cruel 
as Napoleon, or as warm and kindly as Abraham 
Lincoln ; and that in him dwelt the spirit of the 
finest aristocrat beside that of the commonest 
mujik. The spirits of war and of self-sacrifice, of 
lust and of the highest purity, of deceit and of the 
greatest truthfulness, of extremest pride and of 
lowliest humility, mingled in him, and have made 
his heart their battle-ground. One had the im- 
pression that although one had seen faces which 
resembled his among Russian aristocrats and 
peasants, one had never met just such a man. 
He was a composite photograph of Russian so- 
ciety, in which his own self came to the fullest 
expression. Just as Russian society lacked the 
middle class, so the feeling for that class seemed 
in him to be utterly lacking. The physician, the 
mechanic, the lawyer, the merchant, and all the 
other products of modern development found in 
him no sympathizer, and little by little dropped 
out of the list of his visitQrs. 

222 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Those who came were divided by the Tolstoy- 
family into three classes. The first class was 
small; composed of those who, like Prince Chilyoff, 
Tshertkoff, and Biryukoff, were Tolstoyans in 
thought and action. It is doubtful that of this 
class one could count more than the apostolic 
number, of which a few were women ; notably 
among them one with a very uncommon name in 
Russia, — Mrs. Smith, who lives close to Yasnaya 
Polyana, in an exalted poverty, echoing every 
thought of Tolstoy ; herself the personification 
of simple-minded goodness. Among the un- 
known, one would have to name Mr. Nyikitoff 
in Moscow, who not only stepped from wealth 
into poverty, but who also drew the members of 
his family into his condition, not without dire 
consequences to them. One of the sons, upon 
being deprived of his money, shot himself, and 
the remainder of the household became estranged 
from its head, who is living in one room in ex- 
tremest poverty, yet feels rich in the conscious- 
ness that he is obeying the law of Jesus. He is 
one of the most perfect examples of the thor- 
ough Tolstoyan, outranking his master in many 
respects. Among these might be counted a num- 

223 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ber of men who were Tolstoyans before Tolstoy ; 
leaders in the numerous sects in which Russia 
abounds, and who not only learned from Tolstoy, 
but also left some valuable lessons behind them. 
They were welcome visitors, and Tolstoy's indebt- 
edness to such men as Sutayeff, an uneducated 
peasant, and Bondareff, a Siberian exile of the 
same class, cannot be definitely estimated. There 
were also numbers of men who, by the reading 
of the New Testament, had come to strange 
thoughts, which led them away from the 
Church, and who, hearing of Tolstoy, clung to 
him as the expression of their unexpressed ideas, 
henceforth enrolling themselves among his 
disciples. There are not a few of these among 
Moscow's wealthy merchants ; and Tolstoy's 
friends always find his name an " Open sesame " 
to their homes and their life's story. Among 
these are such men as Petrovitsch, Vulganoff, 
and Dunayeff, well-known bankers, all of them 
splendid examples of a Christian manhood which 
is as rare as it is beautiful. To the second class 
belong the many who came, saw, and heard, and 
returned to their homes with a new influence in 
their lives but unable to sever themselves from 

224 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the wealth and culture they possessed, or the 
society in which they moved. Among this class 
must be named all the painters and sculptors for 
whom he sat, and who could not loose themselves 
from the wholesome spell which he cast over 
them. Of these Ilya Repin, Ossip Pasternak, and 
Prince Trubezkoy are the best examples. Their 
homes and their lives are permeated by his spirit, 
their art is influenced by his teachings, and they 
are the disciples "who walk afar off." America 
enrolls among this class Ernest Howard Crosby, 
one of the best loved visitors to the Tolstoy home. 
His worth can be best estimated by the fact that 
he has been able to cast a halo over many other 
American tourists who came, who were hard to 
get rid of, who had much money, much tactless- 
ness, and that perseverance which is not the 
" perseverance of the saints." Jane Addams, of 
the Hull House in Chicago, the best type of Amer- 
ican womanhood that ever stepped into the Tol- 
stoy home, came, carrying with her the fragrance 
of her devoted life. In spite of the fact that 
Tolstoy was then on the verge of a long illness, 
and not in the best spirits, she had that delicate 
perception which saw the genuine man and his 

225 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

great and struggling soul. She was only a few 
hours in Yasnaya Polyana, and her name may 
have been lost in the long list of those who came 
from all the corners of the earth, and who re- 
turned blest, and henceforth to be a blessing. Of 
these no record has been kept ; but after all they 
may have been the best mediums for the spread- 
ing of Tolstoy's ideals and the multiplying of the 
divine life upon the earth. 

To the third class are consigned all those who 
place Tolstoy among the " things " which must 
be " done while one is in Europe ; " the news- 
paper reporters who magnified themselves and 
their subject, and who searched for queerer 
things than they found; the men and women 
who called themselves "saviors of society," the 
apostles of new dispensations who came to con- 
vert Tolstoy to every possible and impossible 
faith, and who returned disappointed because, 
while they found him non-resistant, he was not 
non-committal. All were welcomed, some more 
cordially than others. Those who needed help, 
and for whom help was good, received it ; and 
most of them went away with the feeling " that 
it was good for us to have been here," although 

226 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

many mocked and ridiculed what they could not 
understand. 

The one element which more or less mars the 
great impression one receives is the fact that 
there are two worlds in one household, and that 
the world in which Tolstoy lives is invaded at 
every step, making it incomplete. His plain rooms 
are joined by those of his family, almost luxuri- 
ously furnished ; the frugal kasha (gruel) which 
he eats is surrounded by omelettes and porter- 
house steaks ; and this man who desires to be like 
one of the commonest peasants sits at a table 
served by white-gloved lackeys. He is poor, it is 
true ; he has no money in his pockets, but his sons 
have it. They married rich wives and enjoy " an 
abundance of the things which men possess." 
He does not accept money for his writings, he 
throws them out into the world; but his wife 
gathers them up, until the income from them 
reaches into the tens of thousands. 

Tolstoy cannot be blamed ; for he had no right 
to force his family to live as he lived ; nor can 
one blame Countess Tolstoy, upon whom the 
burden of the family rested, who was eager to 
clothe and educate her children according to their 

227 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

station in life, and who with much labor succeeded 
in doing so. The matter did not pass into this 
stage without a severe struggle, and that she 
was the victor in it need not prove that it was 
really the woman through whose fault Paradise 
was lost. Yet every one feels the presence of 
these two worlds, — the one reserved, cautious, 
pleasure-loving ; the other simple, generous, full 
of labor and sorrow ; and if any chance guests 
were asked in which world they would rather 
spend the remainder of their days, most of them 
would say : " In the world of labor and poverty." 
There is a lesson in the contrast. One sees those 
who are of the world, and close to them him 
who is in their world but not of it ; and when one 
goes away, he takes with him the full spiritual 
charm of that peace which pervades in such 
abundant measure the life of Tolstoy. 



228 



CHAPTER XV 

THE TEACHINGS OF TOLSTOY 

In the year 1883, Turgenieff, from Paris, where 
he lay upon his deathbed, wrote to Tolstoy 
imploring him to return to the art from which 
he had fled to become a preacher of the Gos- 
pel of Jesus, and a prophet of the Kingdom 
of God. Turgenieff wrote : "I have not written 
to you for a very long time because I have been 
very ill, and am now lying on my deathbed. 
I shall never recover ; I know that positively. I 
write to you purposely to tell you how glad I am 
to have been your contemporary, and to ask of 
you the granting of a last wish. Do return to 
your art. The gift you possess comes from the 
same source from which all good things proceed. 
How happy should I be if you would listen to me 
and grant my request. My friend, great writer 
of Russia, do listen to me ! Let me hear from 
you when you receive this letter, and let me 
embrace you and your family once more." 

229 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Neither the plea of the dying nor of the living 
friends could persuade Tolstoy to take up his 
pen for any other purpose than that of proclaim- 
ing the truths he had discovered concerning 
life, and doing it in a plain, straightforward 
way, without the cover of fiction. He wrote now 
as ever from within and of himself ; and in writ- 
ing obeyed that ever-present desire for confes- 
sion and self-examination, more than the desire 
to impart knowledge to others. In his first 
didactic book, "What is my Faith ?" he de- 
scribes how he has come to his faith in Jesus 
and in that portion of the Gospels which he be- 
lieves to have proceeded from the lips of Christ, 
and which has revolutionized his own life, bring- 
ing him peace and happiness. The center of his 
faith and of the Christian religion he finds in 
the Sermon on the Mount to which, he says, the 
Church pays little heed, being too much occupied 
in proclaiming fasts and feasts, and explaining 
strange doctrines and dogmas. The doctrine of 
non-resistance seems to him the most important, 
and becomes the text of all the sermons which 
he preaches to individuals, authorities, and na- 
tions. Over and over again he says : " Force 

230 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

must never be used, even in the suppression of 
evil, and wrong can effectually be righted by 
repaying evil with good." He discovered in the 
Sermon on the Mount five laws which have be- 
come his rule for faith and conduct, and which 
he believes will bring the Kingdom of God into 
men's hearts, and peace and happiness upon the 
earth. The five laws he summarizes thus : — 

" Live at peace with all men and do not re- 
gard any one as your inferior." 

"Do not make the beauty of the body an 
occasion for lust." 

" Every man should have only one wife and 
every woman only one husband, and they should 
not be divorced for any reason." 

" Do not revenge yourself and do not punish 
because you think yourself insulted or hurt. 
Suffer all wrong, and do not repay evil with 
evil ; for you are all children of one Father." 

"Never break the peace in the name of 
patriotism." 

These five laws, which overlap one another 
and are not very clearly defined, represent the 
great principles upon which Tolstoy would base 
the new world order. To the question, how a 

231 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

state or society can exist without the use of 
force, he gives the following answer, which is 
characteristic, inasmuch as it is the answer which 
he always gives when one questions his theories. 
"There can be no answer to such a question," 
he says, " because the question is wrongly put. 
We have nothing to do with the organization of 
the state or of what we call society, but we have 
everything to do with the question how person- 
ally we have to act in the face of the ever-recur- 
ring dilemmas ; whether we are to subordinate 
our conscience to the conditions around us, or 
whether we are to feel ourselves at one with a 
state which hangs erring people to the gallows, 
which commands soldiers to commit murder, and 
poisons and demoralizes people with alcohol and 
opium, or whether we are to subordinate our 
actions to our conscience alone, so that conse- 
quently we cannot have any part in the actions 
of the government which offends our conscience. 
What form the state will have, what results such 
actions will bring, I do not know. I know only 
that if I follow the promptings of a reasonable 
love, the results cannot be evil ; just as nothing 
evil can happen when the bee follows its higher 

232 



TOLSTOY, THE MAN 

instincts and goes with the swarm to its de- 
struction. Herein is the power of the teachings 
of Jesus : that they bring one from a condition of 
doubt to a position of absolute certainty. I wish 
to repeat it," he says, " the question is not, What 
form of government is the safest ? but the one 
question for every man, and a question which one 
cannot avoid, is whether a good and reasonable 
being who has come into the world for a brief 
moment and at any moment may disappear from 
it, — whether he can be a party to the killing of 
erring people, or to the killing of all people with- 
out exception, who belong to a different race or 
nation and whom he calls enemies. There can be 
only one answer to the question, What the con- 
sequences will be. I answer, only good ; for only 
good can come if we act according to the high- 
est known laws, according to conscience and 
love." If one replies that to live according to 
these laws one has to suffer, he says : "And don't 
they suffer here, who do not live according to 
these laws? Just walk through the streets of 
your cities and see these pale, emaciated crea- 
tures who struggle for their daily bread. They 
have left house and home, wife and children for 

233 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the sake of a living, and yet they are not satis- 
fied; neither the poor devil with his hundred 
rubles, nor the rich man with his hundred thou- 
sand rubles. These are the true sufferers. They 
lack all conditions of happiness. They lack first 
of all the touch with nature ; they never see the 
sun rise ; they see forest and field only from 
their carriages ; they have never sown anything, 
and like the prisoners who find comfort in a 
spider or a mouse, so these people find comfort 
in parrots, dogs, monkeys, or sickly plants, which 
often they do not even attend to themselves. 
Secondly, they lack that happiness which labor 
brings ; first, pleasant and voluntary labor, and 
then physical labor which brings sound sleep and 
a good appetite. All the unhappy ones of earth, 
dignitaries and millionaires, like prisoners have 
no work; and they struggle against diseases 
which are a result of this lack. Only such labor as 
is useful and pleasant makes happiness ; and as 
these people need nothing, their labor is always 
distasteful to them ; for I have never known one 
who praised his work, or did it with the zest 
with which a porter shovels snow from the side- 
walk. The third condition of happiness which 

234 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

they lack is the family. Most of the worldly 
minded are adulterers ; and where this is not the 
case children become to them a burden rather 
than a pleasure. If they care for them they do 
not associate with them. They are left in charge 
of strangers ; first, foreign governesses and 
tutors, and then the officials in the schools ; con- 
sequently they have from their children only sor- 
row; that is, they have children who are just 
as unhappy as they are, and who have only one 
feeling towards their parents ; namely, the wish 
that they may soon die, so that they may in- 
herit their wealth. They lack the fourth con- 
dition of happiness ; the loving association with 
people of all stations and conditions; for the 
higher a man rises in life, the narrower grows 
the circle with which acquaintance is possible. 
The peasant may associate with the whole world, 
and if 1,000,000 people refuse to associate with 
him there are still left 80,000,000 who live and 
work just as he does and with whom he may 
come into immediate relationship, whether they 
live in Archangel or Astrachan ; and he need 
not wait for an introduction, or make formal 
calls. The fifth condition of happiness which 

235 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

they lack is health and a painless death ; and the 
higher the social standing the more do they lack 
these conditions. Take the average well-to-do 
man and his wife," Tolstoy continues, " and take 
a peasant and his wife and compare them, and 
you will find that in spite of the hunger which 
the peasants endure, and the cruelly hard work 
which they have to do, they are usually the 
healthier. Call to mind the majority of rich men 
and their wives, and you will find that the 
greater number is ill. Think how most of your 
rich acquaintances have died one after the other 
of some loathsome or terrible disease. They ruin 
themselves for the sake of the teachings of this 
world, and countless men and women follow 
them, living the same cruel life and dying the 
same painful death. And shall we not go, when 
Christ calls, to the obedience of his law ? " To 
the criticism that his teaching would immedi- 
ately result in poverty, he replies : "Yes indeed, 
but what does it mean to be poor ? To be poor 
means not to live in the city, but in the country ; 
not to be locked up in a room, but to be at work 
in field or forest ; to rejoice in the beauty of the 
sky and the warmth of the sun. To be poor 

236 







L 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

means to be hungry three times a day, to sleep 
restf ully instead of having insomnia ; it means 
to have children and to train them yourself ; it 
means to be able to associate with most men ; and 
above all it means not to have to do that which 
is distasteful to you, and not to fear what is to 
happen. Jesus said : ' The laborer is worthy of his 
hire/ and he who works will get enough to eat. 
Moreover, we are not in the world to be served 
but to be of service to others. Thus the true 
happiness and the true wealth will come if we 
obey the law of Jesus." 

Two purely theological works follow this con- 
fession of his faith. One of them is a "Critique 
of Dogmatic Theology," and the other a trans- 
lation of the four Gospels, which he has woven 
into one. In the first work it is the theology of 
the Greek Church that he makes the target 
of an unusually sharp and bitter attack. He 
says : " It grows clearer to me every day that for 
some reason it seemed necessary, at the expense 
of healthful reasoning, and the laws of logic 
and of conscience, to reduce God to a low, half- 
heathenish conception. . . . The whole teaching 
of that church is not only false, but a lie and a 

237 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

deception, which for centuries has been built up 
for certain base purposes." He closes the book 
very sarcastically, citing the last sentence from 
the " Simple Theology " of the Church, where it 
teaches that "He who rules the universe has 
appointed the earthly rulers, and has given them 
dominion and power for the well-being of the 
people ; moreover, that God through these rulers 
appoints all lower officials," and this sentence 
ends in an admonition " to be regular and faith- 
ful in the payment of taxes and tithings." To 
this Tolstoy adds these words : " With this moral 
application of Christian dogma, ends the ' Sim- 
ple Theology/ " In a later work upon a similar 
subject, he is more outspoken, and characterizes 
theology as "An infamous tool of politics." The 
relation of theology and politics, or of the church 
and state, he describes thus : " Rome was, at the 
time of the rise of Christianity, a nest of thieves 
which enlarged itself constantly by robbery, and 
which subjected other nations by force and mur- 
der. These robbers with their leaders, who were 
now called Caesar and now Augustus, plundered 
and murdered people in order to satisfy their 
fickle desires. One of the heirs of these robber 

238 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

chiefs, Constantine, came to the conclusion that 
certain Christian doctrines were preferable to 
his own ; perhaps the following : ' You know that 
the princes of this world have dominion over 
them, but it shall not be so with you.' ' Thou 
shalt not kill, thou shalt not commit adultery, 
thou shalt gather treasures upon the earth, judge 
not, resist not the evil/ Some one must have 
told Constantine something like this : ' You want 
to call yourself a Christian, and at the same 
time disobey these laws, continue to be a robber 
chief, to go to war, to live in luxury, and to kill. 
Well, all that can be reconciled/ So the Chris- 
tians blessed Constantine and praised his power 
and influence, they declared him the chosen of 
God, and anointed him with holy oil. As often 
as a rascal succeeded in robbing, plundering and 
killing thousands of people who never did him 
any harm, they anointed him with holy oil ; for 
of course this was a man of God. As often as 
one of these ' anointed of the Lord ' had the de- 
sire to beat his own or a strange people, the 
Church prepared holy water for him. They 
sprinkled with it the cross, — that cross which 
Christ carried and on which he died because he 

239 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

resolutely condemned these murderers, — the 
priests took it into their hands, blessed this man 
and then sent him out to murder and to hang in 
the name of the crucified Christ." Tolstoy is gen- 
erous enough to say that the priests were cor- 
rupted by these robber politicians, and that only 
later did they become conscious and professional 
deceivers. The relation of church and state he 
defines thus : " The words ' Christian State ' have 
about as much meaning as 'hot ice/ or 'glowing 
ice/ " There is to him only one alternative : 
" Either there is no Christianity or there is no 
State." 

Thus Tolstoy proves himself an anarchist, 
and he does not hesitate to call himself one, 
" Do not be afraid of that word," he said to the 
writer, "I am such an anarchist as the early 
Christians were ; I am such an anarchist as the 
words of Jesus have made me, and by-and-by 
we shall become accustomed to the true meaning 
of that word. The man who is born again needs 
no civil or military authority, and it can have 
no power over him." Little as Tolstoy's Chris- 
tian anarchy can have any relation to the ordi- 
nary state, just so little relation has it to what 

240 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

we understand by anarchy, which we define as 
" A system which teaches that an ideal condition 
of society can be brought about by revolutionary 
force." Neither is it in any way related to mod- 
ern socialism, whose theorizing he considers as 
false as the conclusions which it draws. The 
ideal society which Tolstoy preaches cannot be 
brought about by any of these agencies, but 
rather by the influence of those individuals who 
live according to the law of Jesus. 

His translation of the Gospels is accompanied 
by quotations from Russian and foreign com- 
mentators, with whom he discusses the meaning 
of the text. Beside the Greek text, he printed 
the Russian translation, and finally his own ; 
always stating the reason for his deviation from 
the Russian. This large work he condensed into a 
smaller one, leaving out his comments and those 
of the commentators. Arbitrarily he divides the 
Gospels into twelve parts, and he proves his divi- 
sion by citations from the words of Jesus. Each 
chapter is headed by a quotation from the Lord's 
Prayer, which is the briefest expression of what 
Jesus meant to convey by the words which fol- 
low. He has left out most of the miracles as well 

241 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

as everything which was not quite clear to him ; 
and the following narrative of the sick man at 
the pool of Bethesda, characterizes his whole 
treatment of the Gospel story. " In Jerusalem 
there was a bath, and a sick man was lying 
there — without making an effort, expecting to 
be healed by a miracle. Jesus stepped up to the 
sick man and said: 'Do not expect healing 
through a miracle, but live according to the 
strength which is in you and do not deceive 
yourself about the meaning of life/ The sick 
man obeyed Jesus, arose and went away." In 
spite of many such liberties with the text, the 
work startles one by its ingenious compilation 
as well as by the skill with which Tolstoy makes 
the words of Jesus conform to his ideas. The 
best known among his didactic works he calls, 
" What shall we do then ? " Only small portions 
of it have been printed in Russia, and abroad it 
has appeared in a somewhat incomplete and mu- 
tilated form. After having been away from the 
city for more than eighteen years, he tells of 
his first touch with its life, and especially with 
that part of it which hides itself in the cellars 
of Moscow and in its wretched asylums and 

242 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

slums. He came in close touch with it during 
his services as a census enumerator ; a work 
which he undertook in order to be able to make 
investigations in regard to the prevailing pov- 
erty, and to find ways and means for its preven- 
tion and relief. He tells how he came to one of 
the most wretched of these places, the Rhasonoff 
Asylum. Something very wonderful happened 
to him there. He had taken money with him 
and could not rid himself of it, although he had 
brought it with him for that purpose. "For," 
he says, "I met there in those cellars people 
whom I could not help because they were used 
to hardship and labor and had a stronger grasp 
upon life than I had. Again I met others whom 
I could not help because they were just such peo- 
ple as I was. The majority of the unfortunates 
were unfortunate merely because they had lost 
the ability and the desire to earn their daily 
bread ; that is, their misfortune consisted in the 
fact that they were just as I was. Real suffer- 
ing was relieved in these places by their own 
comrades, better than I could have relieved it. 
Money could make none of them happy." He 
comes to the conclusion that poverty can be 

243 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

stopped only as one goes to the root of the 
evil ; and the evil is our whole social fabric. 
"What shall we do then?" he asks. " Do just 
what Jesus and John the Baptist told us to do. 
Give up everything which we do not abso- 
lutely need, and adjust our lives so that we will 
have to take as little as possible of labor and 
strength from others. There is no such thing," 
he says, " as a privileged idle class, although we 
have been trying to prove that the division of 
labor necessitates that some shall paint and 
think while others perspire and labor. We call 
painting and thinking, art and science ; but art 
is art only as it conveys to men the highest idea 
of life and salvation, and science is truly science 
only as it teaches men what is their object in 
life and what their destiny. We call that, con- 
temptuously, religion ; but it is the only true 
science. Counting invisible bugs and stars, look- 
ing for sun-spots and moon channels, and add- 
ing to it an * ology,' does not make a true science ; 
and upon such science and such art we cannot 
base our unjust social division." He insists 
that the so-called scientists misunderstand Chris- 
tianity, that they judge it from the distorted 

244 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

faith of the churches, and that they take less 
trouble to probe for the genuine faith than they 
do to search for the history of the pollywog. 
"What shall we do then?" he asks again; and 
answers : " Let us not deceive ourselves as to the 
meaning of life ; and as soon as we realize that 
we are upon the wrong path, turn about and 
walk upon the narrow one. Secondly, let us not 
believe that we are better than others ; and, 
lastly, let us work with all our might physically, 
and struggle with the forces of nature for the 
maintenance of our own lives and the lives of 
others." 

" What is the purpose of life ? " he asks in a 
book which is as didactic as the others, but much 
more sweet-spirited ; and he gives the answer in 
one sentence : " The whole aim of life is self- 
sacrificing labor for others." 

That Christianity is not a mystical religion 
but a new philosophy of life, he declares, and 
proves in his most important work of this kind, 
" The Kingdom of God is within you." It is an 
enlargement of his first work, " Confession of 
Faith," and here he searchingly reviews all his 
teachings, and tries to prove them. He points to 

245 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the Church as the enemy and perverter of Chris- 
tianity, and warns men not to judge it by that 
institution, meaning primarily the Greek Russian 
Church. 

There are, according to Tolstoy, three ways 
of looking at life. The first and oldest is the in- 
dividual or animal, which considers the pre- 
servation and well-being of the self, regardless 
of the consequences to others. All the heathen 
religions in their perverted forms teach this, as 
do also Buddhism, Mohammedanism, and even 
Christianity. He considers this stage the child- 
hood of the religious consciousness. The second 
view of the aim of life consists, not in the well- 
being of the individual, but in that of a number 
of individuals — such as the family, a tribe, a 
nation, a state, or humanity as a whole. From 
this view have developed all patriarchal and 
social religious faiths ; such as the Chinese, the 
Japanese, the Jewish, the state religion of the Ro- 
mans, and our own state religion as well as the 
so-called humanitarian religions like the Positiv- 
ists." The third view, which is represented by 
Tolstoy, and over and over emphasized in his 
teachings, is, that the purpose of life is not in the 

246 






TOLSTOY THE MAN 

attaining of the well-being of the individual, or of 
any class or number of individuals, but to express 
and to serve that divine will which has called 
forth the whole earth ; or, as he states it less tech- 
nically, " It is the business of every man ' to do 
the will of Him that sent me into the world/ " 

Humanity, he claims, has passed through the 
first two stages, and now is the time to begin 
the fulfillment of the third, which begins by ac- 
cepting the law of Jesus. To the criticism that 
this ideal is unattainable he answers that " it is 
our business to try, and that in trying there will 
be an increase of the well-being of all. The 
time will come," he says, "when what seems to 
us impossible and visionary, will be perfectly 
natural and easy to realize. The world is now 
suffering from the discord between conscience 
and action. We still rule over men, and consider 
them our menials and servants, in spite of the 
fact that our conscience tells us that all men are 
equal. We obey laws which are human, imper- 
fect, and unjust, we go to war and murder men, 
we smother conscience by narcotics and luxuries, 
by music, art, theatres, smoke, and alcohol. No- 
thing can save us from this inconsistency and 

247 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

struggle but the Christian faith as expressed in 
the law of Jesus." 

This constant attack upon our view of the aim 
of life has not remained without its effect upon 
individuals of all classes, and has reached from 
the mujik's cabin to the throne of the august 
czar. The proposal of the Hague Conference for 
the settlement of international difficulties, which 
emanated from the czar, is one of the tangible 
results of Tolstoy's ungentle and insistent teach- 
ing. Another result is a deeper look into the 
meaning of the Gospels on the part of the Church 
authorities in Russia ; a more humane treatment 
of prisoners and a greater philanthropic activity 
among the rich in the cities of Russia ; the last 
improvement being due largely to Tolstoy's con- 
demnation of wealth, its use arid abuse. 

Again let me say that his teachings come from 
within the man as they have been borne in upon 
him from what he thinks is the will of God and 
what he sees of the suffering of men. He felt 
the great contrasts which in Russian cities are 
stronger than elsewhere ; he saw flaunting lux- 
ury and pitiable poverty side by side, and he 
cried out against such conditions, which are in 

248 




Photograph by M. Duumpilbr 

COUNT TOLSTOY AND HIS DISCIPLE AND FOLLOWER 
THERKOW 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

discord with the will of a loving God. No one 
will ever know how these harsh sayings of his 
were born out of love for man, — for the common 
man ; the suffering and patient mujik who sup- 
ports a vast state by his labor, receiving in re- 
turn scorn and abuse, and enduring hunger and 
cold. Tolstoy has idealized the common man ; but 
no more than has the Master who held up a little 
child as a model to pattern after, and the self- 
sacrificing gift of an outcast woman as the most 
fragrant of offerings ; passing by kings and priests, 
to call the fishermen of Galilee to be his apostles 
and disciples. Tolstoy dignifies labor, physical 
labor, and calls all of us who live by our brains, 
" social parasites." He may be wrong ; but after 
all has been said, it remains true that the man 
who gives, in exchange for the bread he gets, the 
exertion of his muscle and the sweat of his brow, 
is the most honest man. In a country like Russia, 
where to live off the state is the business of a 
good third of its population, and where common 
labor and the common laborer are regarded as 
both " common and unclean," his condemnation 
may be a just one if not always temperate. 
He exalts the words of Jesus, and condemns 

249 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the Church which has made of a religion, pure, 
lofty, and spiritual, one of signs, wonders, idols, 
and forms. Neither is the exaltation too high or 
the condemnation too severe. The words of Jesus 
are life, while the mumbled words of Russian 
priests are like the enchantments of sorcerers 
and soothsayers, and have deadened the spiritual 
life of their adherents. Tolstoy does not claim 
that his teachings are original. "If they were 
original," he said to the writer, " they would not 
be true." The truth he teaches is as old as all 
truth ; it was born in the bosom of God before 
the world was, and brought to light and into life 
by Jesus Christ. Nor are Tolstoy's teachings pro- 
found ; he means to be so simple that a child 
can understand, and it is his desire for sim- 
plicity, that garb of truth, which made him for- 
sake an art into whose atmosphere he was born, 
which wooed him in his youth, which, in middle 
age brought him far-reaching fame, and in the 
winter of his life never-fading laurels. He 
shrank from nobody and from nothing when he 
felt it his duty to say just what he thought to be 
the truth, and what he knew to be the will of God ; 
for he had not only the teacher's insight into truth, 

250 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

but also the prophet's courage and the seer's 
vision of God. The Czar's throne was not so high 
to him as the throne of God, the Metropolitan of 
Moscow not so sacred as his divine Master. Both 
were condemned, and were called murderers and 
idolaters. He was excommunicated, and he would 
have been imprisoned or exiled if these powers 
had not realized that he was not fighting with 
carnal weapons, and that they could not defeat or 
silence him by chains or dungeon walls. It is a 
case where a man has proved true the words of 
the prophets, and the common teaching of his- 
tory, that " Out of the mouth of babes and suck- 
lings," and not out of the mouths of mighty guns, 
or mightier kings, "Hath he ordained strength." 
Tolstoy has opposed the hard and cold dogma- 
tism of the church, and has put into its place the 
reasonable and broad teaching of Jesus. He de- 
nies the existence of a God who is man-made, 
whimsical, autocratic, and arbitrary, and believes 
in a God who has revealed himself in love and 
law, and who permeates all things. He denies 
the efficacy of punishment in the redemption of 
men, and the use of force in maintaining or de- 
fending states, nations, or society ; and teaches 

251 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

that men who voluntarily obey the law of Jesus, 
will alone bring the Kingdom of God upon the 
earth and establish it. He denies that patriot- 
ism is a virtue, and that killing men in battle is 
not murder ; he teaches that all men, of what- 
ever race or color, are brothers, and that the 
law of Jesus which bids us to love all men must 
be obeyed, rather than the dictates of earthly 
authorities, which force us to carry arms and 
use them either in the defense of old, or in the 
acquisition of new territory. Neither hate nor 
vengeance should have a place in human hearts, 
he says ; and men will be redeemed, and society 
redeemed, only by the divine pity and loving 
forgiveness. 

Whether he be right or wrong, he is so sure 
of being right that he has placed his whole life 
in the balance ; believing that he knows the 
truth, and that it is the truth of which Jesus 
said : "It shall make men free." 



252 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE MISUNDERSTOOD TOLSTOY 

During the winter of 1903, while recovering 
from a severe illness, Tolstoy received a letter 
from an English friend, calling his attention to 
the fact that Louise of Tuscany, the divorced 
wife of the Crown Prince of Saxony, had excused 
her action in leaving her husband and children 
by saying that Tolstoy, through his teachings 
about matrimony, had encouraged her deplorable 
action. This letter, which he answered in a some- 
what ungentle spirit, a fact which he afterwards 
greatly regretted, pained him very much ; for he, 
in common with all great teachers, was realizing 
that many of his precepts, although he tried to 
make them very plain, had not only been misun- 
derstood but also misapplied. Especially was this 
true in regard to that very subject of marriage ; 
a relation which he maintained purely and 
sacredly, and against whose abuse and misuse, 
particularly in the higher circles, he had lifted up 

253 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

his voice. The " Kreutzer Sonata," the book in 
which he presents his views of matrimony among 
certain classes, created a great sensation in Rus- 
sia and out of it, and is certainly the most mis- 
understood, and consequently the most unfor- 
tunate of his writings. His idea of literature, 
which made him write so plainly that "he who 
runs may read," has had just the opposite effect 
from what he intended ; for they who ran away, 
misread and misunderstood him, and made him 
the apostle of libertinism. Although he tried to 
prove that without a true view of life, and with- 
out noble ideals, even matrimony may become 
immoral, many, if not most people understood 
him to mean that matrimony is no better than 
concubinage, or, perhaps more correctly speaking, 
that concubinage is as good as matrimony. He 
tried to show that marriage does not save a man 
from committing adultery, even with his own 
wife ; but men and women understood him to say 
that there may be unlawful relations between 
the sexes without committing adultery. His own 
view of marriage he expressed to the writer in 
these words : " Marriage is an elevation for such 
as we." He considers that much which happens 

254 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

in the married life is a lowering of that state, 
which he does not consider the ideal one, but natu- 
ral and sacred. Basing his views upon the words 
of Jesus in Matt. v. 28, and xix. 11, 12, he con- 
siders the single life the ideal one, even if so the 
whole human race ceases to exist. Upon no other 
point does one meet so many criticisms and con- 
demnations of Tolstoy and his views as upon this 
one ; and he is especially censured for not living 
according to what he teaches to be the ideal mar- 
ried state. While he would not defend himself 
against these, one can truthfully say that as soon 
as he had light upon the subject he took what he 
considers the first steps leading to the ideal ; steps 
which he believes it possible and essential for 
every man to take. The first one, "purity before 
marriage," he did not attain because it was never 
held up to him as an ideal ; adultery in the single 
state with a lewd or a married woman being not 
only uncondemned but encouraged. Tolstoy con- 
fesses his unconscious sin in this, and has long be- 
lieved that impure relations, at any time and in 
any state, are absolutely sinful and against the law 
of Jesus. He says that the second attainable step 
is "the maintenance of the married state with 

255 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

one woman." He has met this requirement in 
the face of a society which encouraged the covet- 
ing of another man's wif e, and where the tempta- 
tions to break this law were many and great, both 
from without and from within. No one will 
question the fact that he has been faithful to his 
wife, giving her his fullest devotion and purest 
love. The children who were born to* him were 
not unwelcome to Countess Tolstoy, in whom the 
mother spirit is remarkably developed, and who 
believes with her husband that the aim of mar- 
riage should be to give to the world well-born and 
well-trained children. She believes with him that 
the children should not be given over to the care 
of strangers ; she has nursed all but one of them 
herself, and was much grieved that she could not 
be to this child a mother in the fullest sense. 
Tolstoy also believes that it is wrong for a wo- 
man to use her physical charms to attract men 
to herself, and he therefore condemns many of 
the usages of polite society. In the " Kreutzer 
Sonata," he means to show to young people, first, 
the evil of sensual passion ; and, secondly, how 
the married life may be debased by that passion. 
He does this with his usual candor, thus making 

256 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the story exceedingly naturalistic, and conse- 
quently unpleasant ; perhaps unwholesome ; but 
he certainly is not and does not wish to be im- 
pure. 

Nor does he attack the family ; on the contrary, 
he has always been its strongest champion, and 
intends to be that in this much misunderstood 
book. The story is told by one Posnyscheff to his 
traveling companion in the railroad car. It is the 
sad history of his courtship and marriage and 
their unhappy ending. He had tasted life after 
the manner of young men, and was finally lured 
into matrimony by a designing young girl who 
used her physical charms to great advantage. 
They were married, but never knew real happi- 
ness, because they were drawn toward each 
other by only the lowest desires, and were quickly 
separated when these desires were satisfied. 
Their children were unwelcome, and were not 
trained by the parents, but left to the care of 
hirelings. A musician, who came into the house 
as a friend, charmed the wife by his good looks, 
but more by his playing on the violin, and at last 
by his ardent professions of love. The jealousy 
in Posnyscheff 's breast grew from suspicion into 

257 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

madness ; and one night, returning from a jour- 
ney (which he had undertaken solely to be able 
to surprise his wife with her paramour), he killed 
him, was imprisoned, and had time to repent of 
his deed as well as of matrimony. He was con- 
vinced that, if he had had as much light upon the 
subject before as he had then, he would never 
have married ; and he realized that Christ's words, 
" Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after 
her/' have their bearing not only upon the wife 
of another man, but upon one's own wife also, 
Tolstoy does not prove by this story that matri- 
mony is a failure, but that the men and women 
who enter it without the highest ideals before 
them, make a failure of it, and are no better, and 
sometimes worse, after they are married, than 
they were before. 

Countess Tolstoy and her children were not 
pleased by the book, because it was natural that 
the public should in some way try to connect the 
story with the author's life, which, in other cases, 
it was quite justified in doing. Tolstoy is anything 
but unhappy in his married life, and Countess 
Tolstoy anything but an impure woman ; never- 
theless, he writes out of his own experience when 

258 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

he speaks of the base effects of passion upon the 
higher life. He entered the married state as he 
would have entered Paradise ; and he deplored 
the fact that he brought into it so much which 
defiled and destroyed its sacredness as well as its 
purity. In the " Kreutzer Sonata " he did not say 
all he wished to upon this subject, although many 
people think he said too much. However that 
may be, it must be remembered that everything 
he did say he said seriously, and with the simple 
desire to tell the truth as he saw it, and was try- 
ing to live it. He certainly did not give any en- 
couragement to the libertine, or the free-lover, 
or any of those sentimentalists whose soaring 
emotions may be only the stirring of the baser 
passions. He believes in the marriage of the 
heart ; by which he means that marriage which 
so unites two souls that no power on earth can 
separate them. None of those men and women 
who have broken the chains of wedlock, and have 
run away from its responsibilities, no matter how 
galling and heavy they have been, can find a sylla- 
ble in all his teachings to encourage them. His 
standard for the married life is the standard of 
Jesus, as he interprets it, and is much higher than 

259 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

that of the state and of most of the churches. He 
would condemn the action of those who break the 
marriage vow, if he did not believe the words of 
his Teacher : " Judge not, that ye be not judged." 
It is the fashion to sneer at Tolstoy's theory 
of the higher wedded life, because his wife has 
borne him thirteen children ; but if they were born 
out of a pure love, as we have every reason to 
believe that they were, he has fulfilled the first 
condition which he has marked out as one of 
the steps towards his ideal. Perhaps he felt the 
non-married state to be the perfect one, because 
in it one can more easily live as he himself de- 
sired to live. " Happy man ! " he said of a con- 
firmed old bachelor ; " he can live without hurting 
anybody." Marriage and the children have kept 
Tolstoy from making of himself the completest 
sacrifice, and testing to its extreme the truth of 
the law of Jesus. He still thinks the martyr's 
death desirable, and now, with neither wife nor 
children dependent upon him, he would deem it 
his greatest joy to suffer thus. He did consider 
his family, — he had to in order to be consistent ; 
for he could not force any one to live as he 
wished to live. His ideal — undesirable, or un- 

260 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

attainable, as it is — has this advantage, that the 
steps which he marks out toward reaching it are 
both desirable and possible, and are the greatest 
need of our modern society. 

Tolstoy's attitude toward women lacks all 
the sentimentality by which he surrounds the 
peasant. He is a realist in their portraiture, 
although it never lacks the human touch which 
he gives to everything. The " woman question," 
as such, has no place in his social problems, be- 
cause under the law of Jesus " there is neither 
male nor female ;" the least is as the highest, and 
every one is a servant to his fellow men. Upon 
women in the new spheres of activity, he looks 
with the same disapproval as upon men in similar 
positions ; contending that those occupations are 
unwholesome and unnecessary. 

Another matter upon which he has been mis- 
understood is his view of art. In the "Kreutzer 
Sonata," and later, in his "What is Art?" he 
attacks the sensuality of art, but not art itself, 
which he loves in all its forms. All through his 
life he has felt its seductive power, and its abil- 
ity to be made a tool for the lowest instincts ; 
its capability of filling a man's soul until there 

261 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

is room for nothing else, and the possibility of 
its becoming his prayer, temple, and divinity. 
He also attacks its exclusiveness, its expensive- 
ness, and its lack of usefulness in the service of 
the Master. The art in which he believes must 
be able to convey the highest emotions to those 
who come in contact with it ; these feelings must 
not be superficial, base, or vague, and they must 
serve to bring men into harmony one with an- 
other. Art must be simple in form and clear in 
expression ; so that it needs no commentary or 
interpreter. It must be the instrument which 
conveys moral and religious truth from the realm 
of the mind to that of the heart, and must 
bring men in touch with the higher life. By this 
standard he condemns the music of Wagner, 
Beethoven's "Ninth Symphony," and Goethe's 
"Faust" ; approving the folk-song of the peasant, 
the Old Testament stories, Schiller's youthful 
tragedy "The Robbers," Victor Hugo's "Les 
Miserables," Dickens's novels as a whole, Harriet 
Beecher Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and many 
others of the same class. Just as honestly as he 
has dealt with his life and condemned it in the 
light of the truth which he found later, just so 

262 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

he condemns the art which he produced that 
has not these standards ; and as he has changed 
his method of living, he has also changed his aim 
and method as an artist. 

It is not such a barren world into which he 
has escaped and would have the believers in 
Christ's law to follow. His own home, Yasnaya 
Polyana, is full of music, not always that which 
he desires ; but men and women bring to him 
the best they have, and he enjoys all that finds 
its way to his heart. The silent rooms have often 
been filled by the sweet, pure notes of Mozart, 
his favorite composer, whose masterpieces he 
plays himself, with the feeling and touch of an 
artist. Whenever Tolstoy came to Moscow, he 
could be found, on Sundays and feast-days, in 
the " Maiden Field," the pleasure-ground of the 
common people, whose unbounded delight he 
shared, and in the natural outpouring of whose 
simple art he found the type for its highest 
expression. During these winters he often 
attended the concerts of the Symphony Or- 
chestra, given in the magnificent rooms of the 
" Aristocratic Club," and he never hesitated to 
acknowledge himself fearfully bored ; especially 

263 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

if Wagner dominated the programme, as has 
frequently happened in late years. Although his 
own room is devoid of ornament, pictures and 
sculpture are not banished from his home, 
and he looks at both in unfeigned enjoyment. 
Painters and sculptors belong to the circle of 
his most intimate friends ; they bring the pro- 
duct of chisel and brush for his approval, and 
his criticisms are always listened to reverently, 
although they are not always accepted. 

Nearly everything which the world prints 
finds its way to his study, and he reads much, 
or has the substance of the books told to him, 
by some member of his family. Towards the 
new Russian literature he does not feel very 
sympathetic, although it was inspired by him. 
He deplores its sensuality and its aimlessness, 
but above all, its lack of truthfulness. And this 
is after all his greatest test of art : Is it true ? 
Does it truthfully reflect what men feel, think, 
and do, or what they ought to feel, think, and do? 
The form of art is of little importance to him ; 
it must be sacrificed to truth. For this reason 
he prefers prose to poetry, without, however, 
remaining untouched by the true masterpieces 

264 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

of verse. The writer has seen him moved to 
tears by the recital of the simple Russian poetry, 
and has also seen him enter sympathetically into 
the intricate art of Browning. He himself says 
upon this subject : " An author is of value and of 
use to us in the measure in which he reveals to 
us the inner processes of his soul. Whatever he 
writes, be it a drama, a learned thesis, a philo- 
sophical discussion, a criticism, or a satire, it is 
the revelation of the labor of his soul which is 
valuable, and not the architectural form by which 
he reveals it, or very often tries to conceal it." 
Toward the stage he never felt very sympa- 
thetic. In his younger years, when he lived a 
life of pleasure, the play was only one of the 
means of making it more enjoyable ; but later, 
life as it was seemed tragic enough, without 
needing an expensive, and what he thought an 
immoral institution to represent it. Very sar- 
castically he describes a rehearsal which he at- 
tended somewhere, and which served to separate 
him still more widely from the stage. He says : 
" It seems impossible to view a more disgusting 
spectacle than this. Everywhere there were work- 
ingmen, dirty, tired, and in bad humor. On the 

265 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

stage were hundreds of painted and strangely- 
garbed men and scantily dressed women. In 
the opera which they rehearsed there came a 
procession of Hindoos escorting a bride. She was 
led by an individual dressed like a Turk, who 
opened his mouth in a strange way, and sang : 
'I lead the bride, I lead the bride.' Things 
never seemed to run smoothly ; sometimes the 
Hindoos with their spears came too late, some- 
times too soon ; seldom in time. Then some- 
thing happened which made the director swear 
like a cab-driver. Over and over again the Turk 
sang : ' I lead the bride.' Once more the Hin- 
doos came, with their glittering spears, and again 
things were not right, and again there were 
curses, and again the Turk began : 'I lead the 
bride.' Such a rehearsal lasts five or six hours ; 
the beating with a cane, the repetitions, the cor- 
rections of singers and orchestra, the processions 
and dances, all of it is well seasoned by terrible 
oaths. Forty times, at least, I heard the words 
donkey, fool, idiot, and hag, which were applied 
to singers and musicians alike ; and all of them 
listened patiently, and marched again and again, 
and danced over and over, and the Turk sang 

266 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

for the fortieth time, 'I lead the bride/ The 
director knows that these people are so ruined 
that they are not fit for any other thing but to 
blow a horn or to march over the stage like 
fools, scantily dressed, with spears and yellow 
slippers ; but he also knows that they enjoy this 
lazy life, and would rather bear anything than 
to leave it, and seek a more honest way of mak- 
ing a living." Not a much less repulsive feeling 
was engendered in Tolstoy when listening to one 
of Wagner's operas ; and he went away vowing 
not to attend another performance. He was 
nearly sixty years of age when he began to re- 
alize that he might use the stage for the con- 
veyance of his teachings. Especially during the 
now often repeated attacks of illness did he seri- 
ously think of writing a drama. He saw the char- 
acters acting the play before him ; and, judging 
from the production, it must have been a decid- 
edly unpleasant experience. Never before has 
Russian peasant life been painted in such abso- 
lutely black colors ; and perhaps there is no drama 
in existence which surpasses his in describing 
the base in human nature. In his first play, the 
sub-title, " When the Claw is in the Trap, the 

267 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Whole Bird is soon lost/' gives a clearer idea of 
the moral import of it than " The Power of Dark- 
ness," the name by which we know the play. It 
is taken entirely from peasant life, which is por- 
trayed with marvelous fidelity. The mujik is not 
in the least idealized, and we see him in all his 
coarseness, crudeness, ignorance, superstition, and 
brutality. Nikita, the hero, steps from one sin 
into the other ; he seduces the orphan Marina, 
and casts her from him most cruelly, because 
she is poor. He betrays his master, the peasant 
Pyotr, with whose wife he has entered into un- 
lawful relations, and he helps her to put her 
husband out of the way by poisoning him. Then 
they marry, after which he drinks to excess, 
and neglects her for her step-daughter, whose 
relations with him do not remain without con- 
sequences. The darkness into which all the 
characters wrap themselves becomes gruesome ; 
and the murder of the newly born infant ren- 
ders the situation unendurable. While its wail 
is still in the air, its mother is about to be 
married to a lad, with whom this union has 
been arranged, without his knowing the dis- 
honor and crime which are attached to her 

268 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and her family. Nikita's conscience, however, 
awakens ; he leaves the merry wedding guests, 
and in the barn attempts to commit suicide. 
His wife and mother, who have been his accom- 
plices, and who are both weak and bad, find 
him, and chide him for not making ready to go 
to the church, where the marriage ceremony 
is to take place. Finding him obstinate, they 
threaten him ; but before all the wedding guests, 
he falls upon his knees, and, encouraged by his 
father, " makes a clean breast " of the matter, 
and goes to prison with a light heart. Those who 
read the play in the translation, or see it enacted 
on a foreign stage, lose much of its spirit and 
its truly Russian flavor. For instance, on the 
Russian stage, when the woman comes in to get 
a cross to put upon the child's neck before it is 
murdered, the audience feels her chief sin, which 
is hypocrisy, and Tolstoy makes his point; but 
upon a foreign stage, this act invariably creates 
merriment, which certainly it was not meant 
to do. Dark and dreadful as the drama is, it 
meets the requirement of Tolstoy's ideas of art, 
and tries to speak powerfully to both the emo- 
tions and the conscience. For the women in the 

269 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

play, who are worse than the men, he finds this 
apology, uttered by the old servant, Nitrisch : 
" There are millions and millions of you women 
and girls, and you are all like the beasts of the 
forest. You grow up and die, and see nothing 
and hear nothing; you know nothing of God, 
and you are like blind dogs, crawling along on 
your way." The men see and know something ; 
they go to town and to the inn, and they come 
in touch with life, poor as it may be. As a 
pathetic picture of the condition of the Russian 
peasant, this play surpasses anything which Tol- 
stoy has written. It is repellent when one reads 
it, and becomes positively disgusting when seen 
on the stage. It destroys the idea of the essential 
goodness of simple people, who are supposed to 
be spoiled only as they are touched by modern 
culture ; for these peasants, far away from every- 
thing which is modern, surpass in brutality and 
absolute viciousness all that we know of such 
characteristics among civilized people. 

A play which is a keen satire upon society, 
and in which Tolstoy contrasts the life of the 
common people with that of the so-called edu- 
cated classes, was written shortly after this 

270 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

drama ; and those who accuse him of a lack of 
humor ought to see a Russian audience con- 
vulsed by laughter at its presentation. In the 
play, which is called "The Fruits of Modern 
Culture," peasants come to town to buy a piece 
of land from their lord. They are astonished by 
everything they see and cannot quite comprehend 
all its meaning. The count is deep in spiritualism, 
and sees and hears ghosts everywhere. His wife, 
who has been told that diphtheria is epidemic in 
the village from which the peasants come, has the 
room in which they are disinfected by ill-smell- 
ing drugs. The poor mujiks cannot understand 
how they can be full of insects which they them- 
selves cannot see. The daughter of their lord 
hammers the piano all day. The son belongs to 
various clubs and societies, and is now especially 
interested in the "Society for the Culture of 
Long-haired Greyhounds." The peasants hear in 
astonishment that the lady has herself tightly 
laced each day, that her dog wears a costly coat 
in winter, and that he gets a specially prepared 
cutlet for each meal. 

Unfortunately, the satire is too sharp, and the 
caricature too broad ; but the play delights 

271 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Russian audiences, without making much im- 
pression upon those persons who partake of 
these peculiar " fruits of culture.'' It was given 
before the czar in Zarskoye Selo, his summer 
residence; the different characters were repre- 
sented by members of the royal household, and 
the audience was composed of the very people 
at whom the author's sharpest arrows were 
aimed. 

A third play, written shortly after this one, 
is called "The Whisky Distiller," and is much 
less a play than a tract against the manu- 
facture of liquor and the use of it; as such 
it has been a very great help in Russian soci- 
ety of all classes. As literary productions, all 
of Tolstoy's plays are inferior to any other 
form of his writings, and one feels that he has 
come to the drama too late in life. He has never 
been in sympathetic relation with the stage and 
its actors, or with anything that is connected 
with the presentation of the drama. His aver- 
sion to it is best illustrated by his offhand judg- 
ment of the " Passion Play" at Oberammergau. 
The writer came to Yasnaya Polyana, from the 
Bavarian Mountains, where he had been much 

272 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

uplifted by seeing it. "What can there be 
beautiful about it?" Tolstoy said, rather sharply. 
" I should not care to see a fat peasant hanging 
on a cross. I should think it rather repulsive." 
And the narrator was checked in his enthusiastic 
description. 



273 



CHAPTER XVII 

TOLSTOY'S LITERARY ACTIVITIES AT THE CLOSE 
OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

Turgenieff's wish, that Tolstoy should return 
to the art which he had forsaken, was to be ful- 
filled. Gradually he worked his way back to its 
height, through his shorter stories ; such as "The 
Death of Ivan Ilyitsch," "Walk in the Light, 
while ye have the Light/' and so, to his last great 
work, "The Resurrection." The first of these 
sketches is that of a simple and common every- 
day life ; yet it is a terrible tragedy which takes 
place in the conscience of the man, as he begins 
to feel approaching decay and death. With mar- 
velous skill Tolstoy pictures the emotions in his 
breast, from the moment when his apprehensions 
begin until they end in despair. The lies which 
are told to the man by his physician, as well as 
by the members of his family, add greatly to his 
torture, which is not eased until a simple peasant 
boy tells him the truth : " We must all die, Mas- 

274 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

ter." His whole life passes in review before him, 
and realizing that it was wrong, he repents, 
the fear of death leaves him as he bravely 
faces it, and, "in place of death there was light." 
The second story, which is the only one in 
which Tolstoy reaches far back into history for 
his plot, is that of two men living at the time 
of Trajan : Pamphilius, who becomes a Christian, 
and finds in the law of Jesus the happiness of 
his life ; and Julius, his friend, who is of the 
world, and suffers disappointment after disap- 
pointment, in his business, in his own life, and 
in the life of his son. Crushed by adversity, 
he seeks Pamphilius, accepts Christianity, lives 
twenty happy years, and passes into eternity with- 
out fearing death when it comes upon him. Tol- 
stoy's own feelings had much to do with the 
theme of these stories; for old age had crept 
upon him, and he had more than once faced the 
great inevitable end. " What does it mean," he 
writes at this time, "that life is going? That the 
hair falls out, the teeth decay, and the face is 
covered by wrinkles? — Everything grows ugly 
and terrible, while the things I once loved, I abhor. 
There must be a beauty of real life, a beauty 

275 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which cannot thus fade away." Countess Tolstoy 
also writes at this time that her husband is grow- 
ing gray, that he is much changed, and that he is 
quite silent. Those who had not seen him for a 
decade noticed all this ; but also realized that in 
spite of the wrinkled face and gray hair, he had 
gained a new beauty. The features, so unsym- 
metrical and roughly hewn, were smoothed over 
by tenderness; the gray eyes were less piercing 
and kindlier ; for the effect of his new life was 
written upon his countenance. There was also 
about him, what one had always missed ; that 
certain something which we call a spiritual at- 
mosphere. He was weaker physically ; but there 
was still a mental power which was remarkable, 
and was to manifest itself in his "Resurrection," 
a story which shows all the virility of his youth, 
surprising his friends and dismaying his enemies. 
Never before, in the history of Russian letters, 
had it happened that an author was permitted to 
print in a journal which had about two hundred 
thousand readers, a story which so unmercifully 
condemned the fundamental ideas of Church and 
State as did this one of Tolstoy. It seemed as 
if the censor had been hypnotized ; because the 

276 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

story, even as it finally passed his scrutinizing 
eyes, had in it all that Tolstoy said about the farce 
which is played in Russian courts in the name of 
Justice, and his dangerous theory of giving all 
the land to the peasantry. In fact, the govern- 
ment traced certain revolts to these ideas, which 
had gone among the peasants ; and when they 
were asked why they had rebelled, they replied : 
"Tolstoy said that the land belongs to us." 

Prince Dimitry Necklyudoff is, again, the hero 
of the story. In the home of his aunt he meets 
Katyuska, a charming girl, who is something be- 
tween a servant and a daughter of the house, 
and whom he loves in an innocent way, she re- 
ciprocating his affection. After a number of 
years, he returns as an officer and man of the 
world, whose heart and soul have been spoiled, 
and ruins Katyuska, forgetting her as soon as duty 
calls him into the service. She is driven from the 
house as soon as his aunt becomes aware of the 
consequences of his affection, and sinks lower and 
lower, until she becomes an inmate of a brothel. 
Being suspected of having poisoned a rich mer- 
chant, she is arrested, brought before the court, 
and sentenced to banishment. Necklyudoff, her 

277 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

betrayer, is chairman of the jury. Recognizing 
her, he becomes conscious of his guilt, and tries to 
make reparation. He wishes to marry her, and 
offers to share her punishment ; but she is deaf 
to his entreaties, and incapable of reciprocating 
the noble feeling which prompts him to make 
this self-sacrificing offer. Slowly, by enduring 
with her the privations of the prison, and by 
helping and protecting the many victims of Rus- 
sian injustice, he is able to awaken in her sparks 
of her first, noble love. In vain he appeals from 
court to court, and, finally, to the senate, to have 
her sentence revoked ; and after exhausting all 
the means at his command, he prepares to go 
with Katyuska to Siberia. He divides his land 
among his serfs, and clad in rough, peasant garb, 
traveling third-class on the railway, he discovers 
a new world ; the world of the honest, hard-work- 
ing mujik. He follows Katyuska from one prison 
station to another, and at last is able to present 
to her the pardon granted by the czar. An exile 
and prisoner, like herself, a rather remarkable 
man, has offered to marry Katyuska, who accepts 
him, knowing that NecklyudofFs life would be 
ruined if she permitted him to chain it to hers. 

278 



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COUNTESS TOLSTOY AND THE YOUNGER CHILDREN 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

He knows that she loves him, and that she is 
making this sacrifice because of the purity of her 
affections ; although she has tried to hide from 
him the real cause of her decision. Returning 
to his hotel, he is burdened by thoughts of the 
evil he has seen in the prisons during his jour- 
ney through Siberia. He turns to his New Testa- 
ment, which was given him by an Englishman 
who was visiting the convicts, and, in reading it, 
is filled by the thought that he must not judge, 
but have the forgiving spirit, even toward those 
who had so cruelly treated him and his compan- 
ions. Finally, the words of Jesus, "Seek ye first 
the Kingdom of God and His righteousness/' 
convince him of the false philosophy of his life, 
and he determines to seek that which alone can 
be found. With that night began his new life ; 
"because everything which happened to him 
after this had a better and a higher meaning." 

Both the hero and the heroine have their resur- 
rection. He, from a meaningless and sinful life 
in the higher circles to a repentance which tried 
to make immediate and definite reparation, and 
finally, to true life through his obedience to the 
words of Jesus. The heroine had her resurrec- 

279 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

tion, from a low and base life, into which she 
had fallen through the guilt of another, to noble 
feelings which she had long forgotten, and to 
which she was awakened by the same man's 
kindliness and gentleness. The story shows how 
powerful, still, when Tolstoy wrote it, were his 
artistic as well as his critical faculties. With 
what gigantic strength he tore away the cover- 
ing of modern society ! How he probed the 
wounds of Church and State, until banishment 
was threatened, and excommunication pro- 
nounced upon him ! With what childlike joy 
he draws in the beauties of the spring, and with 
what prophetic insight he shows the discord 
among men ! Like a John the Baptist, he lays 
the ax " to the root of the tree ; " but with the 
gentleness of his great Master he preaches pity 
and compassion for the poor, love and faith, as 
forces for the redemption of men. It is, no 
doubt, his noblest story ; and were it not that he 
went so far down for his material, using it with- 
out gloss, it might have been one of the finest 
productions of modern literature. His pity for 
those who suffer through the guilt of others is 
as great as his hate for their oppressors, and as 

280 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

is his contempt for their self-sufficiency and 
complacency. The language in this story is, if 
possible, clearer and more definite than in any 
of his other works. There is not a wasted word ; 
the aim is direct and sure, and the reader imme- 
diately becomes conscious of the fact that he is 
in touch with one who is not a mere story-teller. 
There is no playing with certain theories and 
maxims ; but almost a violent outcry, exposing 
the lowest depths of human nature, the most 
hidden secrets of society, and calling men to a 
"Resurrection," through a pure, devoted, self- 
sacrificing, and simple life. Tolstoy was very sad 
and unhappy when he wrote certain parts of 
this story ; he felt himself insulted in his inner- 
most being by the common sins of uncommon 
men. At the same time he knew that he was 
once like them. He saw the nobility of men in 
most ignoble circumstances ; in their dirt and 
degradation, behind thick prison walls, and even 
in the lowest brothels. That he told the truth, 
no one doubts and no one has denied. The Rus- 
sian courts- and the Russian prisons are just 
what he says they are ; for he did not get his 
material from hearsay, or from the Imperial 

281 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Library, as is the custom of those who praise in 
books and lectures Russia's humane treatment 
of prisoners. He went to the prisons himself ; 
and no one will ever quite know how far he 
went, — not to get material for his story, but 
to come near to his brothers and sisters, and if 
possible make some reparation for his own sins. 
What pleased him most after the publication 
of the " Resurrection/' was first, and above all, 
its moral effect. From nearly every European 
city came letters from men who cried out : " We 
are sinners/' and who asked the way to their 
" resurrection." It was the writer's privilege to 
come with such messages from Vienna and 
Buda-Pesth, two of the worst cities in Europe, in 
which numbers of men said to him : "Tell Tolstoy 
that we shall never again think so ill of women 
as we have thought." His face brightened when 
these words were repeated to him ; and in them 
he found his true reward. "Resurrection" was 
the first book which for many years he had 
written for revenue, and that not for himself, 
but for the unfortunate Duchoborz, who had left 
their native land and had found a home in the 
far northwest of Canada. His intervention, and 

282 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

the proceeds of this story, saved hundreds of 
people from being exterminated by the Russian 
government, and from starving to death upon 
the cold plains of the Province of Manitoba. 
Tolstoy refused all other aid so freely offered 
him for these unfortunates ; preferring to throw 
them upon their own resources, to save them 
from what he considered a greater evil : the evil 
of pauperism. 

He did not cease to be a preacher and teacher, 
because he had written another great story ; for 
with the echoes of its success still in his ears, he 
began writing an indictment against the modern 
movement of Social Democracy, which was pub- 
lished under the title, "Modern Slavery." The 
writer was in Yasnaya Polyana while it was 
being written, and had its theories practiced on 
him during those walks which are so dear to all 
who visit there. On one of those evenings, 
as he and Tolstoy were watching the setting sun, 
the writer, having spoken of his own faith in a 
future life, ventured to ask : " Count, what about 
the future? I mean the future of humanity. 
What will be the ultimate form of society?" 
"The future/' he answered, "is with God to 

283 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

know, and for us to prepare. Our business is to 
live right, now, and God will make all things 
right, then." His remark about socialism was 
startling. " The greatest enemy to humanity is 
this Social Democracy ; it is the preparation for 
a new slavery. It teaches a future good, without 
a present betterment. It promises golden streets, 
without the bloody Gethsemane." "But isn't 
socialism a preparation for an ideal state?" 
" No, indeed not. It is just the contrary. It will 
regulate everything, put everything under law, 
it will destroy the individual, it will enslave him. 
Socialism begins at the wrong end. You cannot 
organize anything until you have individuals; 
you are making chaos out of cosmos ; you will 
breed terrorism and confusion, which only brute 
force will be able to quell. Socialism begins to 
regulate the world away from itself. You must 
make yourself right, before the world around you 
can be made right. No matter how wrongly the 
world deals with you, if you are right the world 
will not harm you and you may bring it to your 
way of thinking. The modern labor leader 
wishes to liberate the masses, while he himself 
is a slave." A few weeks before this, Tolstoy 

284 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

had received a deputation of workingmen from 
the neighboring city of Tula ; men who had be- 
come infected by socialistic ideas, and he 
preached the same sermon to them. They went 
away much discouraged, but not convinced of 
the error of their ways. It was not easy to leave 
him, unconvinced ; for while he spoke, his eyes 
rested firmly upon one, and his sentences came 
unbroken, like water from a flowing spring. His 
sermon, for such it always was, awakened in one 
the consciousness, the holiness, and the responsi- 
bility of the self. He magnified the value of the 
soul, and minimized the value of the things of 
which the socialists had spoken ; the lack of 
comforts and luxuries. He felt all the wrong 
which they were suffering, but he insisted that 
they themselves must be right, "be born again." 
How often these words resounded among the 
towering oaks which shade his customary walk. 
"You must deny yourself, — give up, — re- 
nounce, — sacrifice, — and obey only the Christ." 
To all the philosophy which one quoted, he would 
say abruptly, "That is not the law of Jesus." 
He would never grow angry; but he spoke 
firmly, like one who was convinced that he alone 

285 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

had the truth. At that time he also wrote an 
open letter on the subject of patriotism, and 
addressed to the czar. He sent it to a Moscow 
paper for publication, but of course it was 
promptly returned, and was afterwards published 
in London. It elaborates his well-known theory 
of the evil of so-called patriotism, condemns the 
killing of countless numbers of men at the com- 
mand of the czar, and, not in unkind language, 
calls his majesty a murderer ; not less a mur- 
derer than the men who, crazed by some fantas- 
tic idea, lift their hands against a king, and slay 
him. 

Tolstoy's fame was beginning to reach the 
masses, among whom discontent had manifested 
itself, and they were looking to him as the cham- 
pion of their rights. The following letter which 
he received is interesting, because it testifies to 
this growing feeling, and because it graphically 
and truthfully pictures the condition of the 
peasantry : — 

Most Gracious Sir, our defender and protector : 

We kneel before you, weeping hot and bitter 

tears, and pray that you may not leave us ; even 

286 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

as a father does not leave his children. We want 
to tell you how the authorities are treating those 
of us who have become Sectarians. The police 
of the whole district have come, and they go 
at night from one house to another, cursing, and 
frightening the women and children. Wherever 
there was a soul which had cut itself loose from 
the Church, there the police came, and settled 
down, often six or eight of them, and ate and 
drank. They asked for eggs, milk, and butter, 
but paid for nothing. The housewife had to 
serve them, and stand before them while they 
were eating. They beat old women who were 
too feeble to wait upon them. They asked for 
horse and wagon, and if any one refused, he was 
beaten most unmercifully. The Sectarians were 
driven out of one village by the other inhabit- 
ants, because of the continued persecution on 
the part of the authorities. The peasants who 
wanted to help these persecuted people were 
themselves persecuted and fined. 

We pray that a man may be found who could 
tell our woe with such a loud voice that it might 
be heard in Heaven ; because we cannot do it 
ourselves. They press our throats, so that we 

287 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

cannot even talk in a whisper. Letters are not 
sent to us, or from us, and we are completely 
isolated from the world. The officials have grown 
so violent that after the czar had pardoned 
eleven women, they refused to sell them railroad 
tickets at Charkoff ; so they had to walk, carrying 
their little children in their arms. After twenty 
miles, they succumbed ; and only through the 
intervention of a charitable woman did they 
finally get transportation to their homes. If 
only some one would help us, who are suffering 
such great misfortunes ! — some one who would 
be led by the Spirit, and who could fly like a bird 
through the whole world, and proclaim to it our 
great woe. 

The world did hear ; but not the Russian 
world, for its ears and eyes were closed by the 
censor ; and the peasants who wrote this letter 
suffered severely ; for it is still forbidden in 
Russia to complain audibly. Tolstoy's fame as 
a champion of the people's rights, and as their 
helper in need, dates from his remarkable effort 
in their behalf, when in the year 1891-92, he 
was the leading spirit in relieving the distress 

288 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

caused by the famine. Money and helpers came 
to him from all parts of Europe and America ; 
and his leadership was as successful in this phil- 
anthropic movement as had been his reluctance 
to undertake it. He traveled, in the depth of 
winter, from village to village, organizing relief 
societies, and establishing soup-kitchens, which 
were the means of keeping millions of peasants 
from starvation. The closing winter of the nine- 
teenth century Tolstoy spent in the Crimea, 
carried there because of his severe illness ; his 
friends hoping much for him from the mild cli- 
mate of Russia's Riviera. There he lived again 
his eventful youth. His literary career seemed 
past, his health was failing, and although the 
fine climate permitted him to recuperate to some 
extent, he returned to Yasnaya Polyana the next 
spring, an old man, who was waiting for " one 
fight more ; the best and the last." 



289 



CHAPTER XVIII 

TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Some time ago one of the most widely circulated 
German journals sent requests to its readers to 
name the most celebrated ten living men. Tol- 
stoy was given the first place by hundreds of 
votes ; and there was scarcely a list sent in from 
which his name was omitted. The same thing, it is 
reported, was done in France with very much the 
same result. This kind of tribunal may be worth 
much or little, nevertheless it indicates the fact 
that among living men there is none whose name 
is more widely known than that of Tolstoy. His 
books have been translated into all the languages 
spoken among civilized people ; and a recent and 
somewhat inaccurate compilation of the books 
and articles to be classed under " Tolstoyana," 
numbers more than four thousand. Of course 
the number of books written by him and about 
him indicates nothing beyond the fact that he 
is a voluminous writer, and that he has aroused 

290 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

much critical comment among men. He is known 
beyond the reach of his writings, among millions 
of peasants who cannot read ; and among count- 
less numbers of all classes who have never had the 
opportunity or taste to read anything that he has 
written. Into the obscurest corners of the earth 
has his fame gone, and one is startled by seeing 
how instantly his name awakens interest and 
provokes comment and discussion. To some, he 
is, like Isaiah, a great prophet who has again 
brought to men the first true notes of religion ; 
or a John the Baptist, the forerunner of a new 
kingdom. To others again he is the veritable 
Anti-Christ ; his teachings destructive of Chris- 
tianity and void of what they call true religion. 
Some, again, consider him a man, half lunatic, 
who has perverted his art and misused his grand 
opportunity of giving to the world great novels ; 
while others talk of him as a shrewd poseur, who 
has increased the sale of his books by studied 
oddities and eccentricities. But no matter what 
men call him, they all agree that he is a won- 
derful personality whose influence has permeated 
civilized society; and even his severest critics 
have felt this influence although they may have 

291 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

studiously avoided reading his books. It seems 
as if great thoughts become an atmosphere which 
men must breathe in, whether they choose to do 
so or not ; and in spite of themselves they begin 
to think those thoughts even if they do not im- 
mediately act upon them. Tolstoy's feelings or 
something like them have come to many an offi- 
cer in the Russian army, who had fought, gam- 
bled, and drunk, and who suddenly asked himself: 
" Have I been doing right ? " and some evening 
he would communicate his thoughts to a com- 
panion, swearing him to secrecy, and he would 
reply: "I have been thinking the same thing; 
this is not life, this is death; " and the next day 
they would resign their commissions and be 
declared " Tolstoy mad " because they began to 
earn their bread by the sweat of their brows. 
Many a judge who arrogantly meted out so- 
called justice to his fellow men, saw a " hand- 
writing on the wall : " " Judge not that ye be not 
judged," and stepped from his bench, among the 
culprits. Legislators and officials in our own 
country have felt this influence in a similar way ; 
and at least one place, the city of Toledo, is gov- 
erned by a mayor who acknowledges himself 

292 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Tolstoy's disciple. Little villages are named, of 
whose existence he does not even know, in 
which households are governed by the law of 
Jesus ; and the number of wealthy manufacturers 
who have been influenced by him in the treat- 
ment of their employees is larger than one would 
imagine. Among many he is a " f ad," which 
however cannot endure, because Tolstoy can 
never become fashionable ; and you cannot put 
his teachings on and off like a garment. They 
grip the life as by a mighty force, and no mat- 
ter how much one shakes one's head over them, 
and how much one lives in direct opposition to 
them, one can never quite shake off the feeling 
that, after all, the inner life is of more value 
than mere adventure, and the inner joy more 
than what men call happiness ; and while most of 
us say we cannot live like Tolstoy, nearly all of 
us wish that we might. One would scarcely have 
thought that so serious, so religious a literature 
as Tolstoy has given us could gain any foothold, 
especially in Europe ; which was under the sway 
of German rationalism and French naturalism 
and from whose sphere Christianity in its severe 
aspects was quite ruled out ; and yet Europe has 

293 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

not been so dominated at any time since litera- 
ture has been an art which touches more or less 
all sorts and conditions of men, as it is by the 
writings of Tolstoy. In Russia as well as in 
other countries of Europe, men talk about the 
ethics of Jesus as they have never talked before ; 
and they do it largely under the influence of this 
great personality. Peter Rosegger, who in the 
Austrian Alps preaches a sane and sweet reli- 
gion, and who lives close to the people from whose 
loins he sprang, says : " All modern, social, and 
spiritual movements, even such as do not wish 
it, are coming near to the Christian ideal. To 
live for others, to see in the well-being of others 
one's own happiness, to help the weak and down- 
trodden, to forgive everything, to spiritualize 
science in order to find God in the truth, are the 
ideal Christianity." Nitsche's Oversoul has been 
conquered by the self-sacrificing spirit mani- 
fested by the peasant of Yasnaya. How much 
this is due to the teachings of Tolstoy one can- 
not easily say ; and it does not matter, either 
to him or to any lover of truth. The writer 
discussed with Tolstoy this subject; this phe- 
nomenon of some great truth's or phase of 

294 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

truth's becoming manifest at once in all parts 
of the civilized world and coming from various 
sources. The Germans call it "Zeitgeist." The 
early Christians called it " The Spirit of Truth," 
which came from their Master. 

Looking back over Tolstoy's life, one sees a 
scion of a wealthy and aristocratic family, ques- 
tioning the value of the attainments of modern 
culture while yet reaching out after them, and 
beginning to try to fathom the great problem of 
the meaning of life. He leaves the university, 
quite convinced of the uselessness of what men 
call science ; and devotes himself to his serfs, 
who good-naturedly take all that he gives them 
without showing much appreciation of his efforts, 
or improvement in their condition. He enters the 
army, and returns home disgusted by the gore 
of battle and the curse of war. He writes novels, 
but turns from the art which was born in him, 
as useless and immoral. He is repelled by the 
glitter of society, by its hollowness and its un- 
truthfulness. He looks behind the scenes of the 
stage on which is played the game which we call 
civilization ; but sees the mask which the players 
wear ; and knowing that at heart they are worse 

295 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

than barbarians, that which we call art and cul- 
ture, he calls stage-trappings. Science he finds to 
be a lie, religion a superstition, and his own life 
so empty and meaningless that he is ready to 
choose death in preference to it. He at last finds 
the faith that saves him and gives meaning to his 
life. He finds the Christ and believes in his words ; 
making them the law of his life. He learns to 
love men and to love them regardless of their 
class, nationality, or race; and in loving and 
serving them he is doing the will of God, which 
is the chief aim of his existence. He gives up 
his wealth and all those outward signs of refine- 
ment by which men of his class surround them- 
selves, and lives that simple, non-resistant life 
from which has gone out this world-wide influ- 
ence. A close analysis of his teachings brings 
one to the following conclusions : He was born 
with a sensitive conscience. It constantly judged 
and accused him and none the less his surround- 
ings, making plain to him always the contrast 
between the ideal and the real; consequently 
there was a continual struggle going on within 
him. To quiet his conscience and bring to it that 
peace which is its true atmosphere have been his 

296 




f 



\ 



. 



A RECENT PORTRAIT OF TOLSTOY 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

endeavor " from his youth up," the theme of his 
writings and the subject of his sermons. 

He was accused not only by the wrongs which 
he committed but by the privileges that he 
enjoyed and which were withheld from others. 
The contrast between his comfort, his pleasures, 
his luxuries, and the poverty of the poor was 
always a torture to him, and to equalize things 
was his only desire ; to make right the great 
wrong practiced by his class was his aim in life. 
It was and is his great regret that he has but 
partially succeeded in doing so. He saw in the 
simple life of the peasant a step toward his 
ideal ; in his patience, frugality, industry, and 
simplicity of mind he found the example he 
wished to follow ; and he began to work with his 
hands, to mend shoes, fetch the water, and build 
brick ovens. Little by little he began to discover 
that the peasant's philosophy of life had in it the 
germs of the new world order, such as Jesus came 
to establish ; and he condemned all art and cul- 
ture which did not stand the test of that phi- 
losophy. He believed that culture and science 
served the rich and the strong, that they ele- 
vated a few and dragged down the mass of men, 

297 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which can be elevated only by a return to the 
simple life as it is in nature, and whose laws of 
conduct are established in the Gospel of Jesus. 
In studying his words Tolstoy found that non- 
resistance toward all evil-doers was the only way 
of not being dragged to their level and the only 
way of not increasing violence among men. He 
believes in his doctrines because they are based 
upon his own experience and have been drawn 
from the word of God. They are the laws of 
his life. This gives him constant courage and a 
never-wavering faith in the ultimate victory of 
his teachings. He believes that the Kingdom of 
God will come, and that it can come immediately 
into each life as it becomes subject to the law 
of God. There is in everything he says a note 
of exaggeration which comes from this sensitive- 
ness of conscience, and which has often made 
him unjust to himself and to others. It is as 
difficult to believe all the things he says about 
himself, as it is difficult to believe all he says 
about society as it is, although there is no doubt 
that he means to see and to tell the truth ; but 
as it is with men who are careful not to grow 
stoop-shouldered, that they lean too far back, 

298 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

so he, in his eagerness to tell nothing but the 
truth, exaggerates and distorts that truth quite 
unconsciously. There is no doubt that he has 
tried seriously to live according to his ideal, and 
there is no doubt in his own mind that he has 
most miserably failed. " I am no saint," he says, 
11 and have never said that I am. I am only a man 
who is carried away by his passion, and some- 
times and maybe always does not say just what 
he thinks and feels. Not because I do not wish 
to, but often because I cannot, and because I 
either exaggerate or am mistaken. With my 
doing it is still worse. I am a thoroughly weak 
man with sinful habits who desires to serve the 
God of Truth, but who constantly stumbles. If 
people consider me a man who does not sin or 
make mistakes, then I must be a terrible hypo- 
crite ; but if they consider me a weak man, then 
the difference between my words and my deeds 
is a sign of weakness and not a sign of hypocrisy 
and lying ; and, above all, then I appear as just 
what I am, a pitiable but upright man, who has 
always wished with his whole heart to be a thor- 
oughly good man ; and that means that I wished 
to be a servant of God." He is as modest as he 

299 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

is honest and his fame has not spoiled him. He 
does not wave away praise like one who is sur- 
feited by it ; he accepts it graciously where it is 
honestly given, but stifles all attempts at flattery 
or semi- worship. He never speaks of himself as 
a prophet or apostle and he has never been known 
to boast of his achievements ; in fact he lacks all 
those elements which have spoiled many men for 
leadership. He has neither conceit nor egotism. 
He does not care to have incense waved before 
him, and those who come to Yasnaya for that 
purpose soon find themselves without occupation. 
And yet one immediately grows conscious of his 
greatness ; there is something defying analysis 
which marks him. It may be only what the vis- 
itor brings with him of anticipation, it may be 
only the nimbus which fame weaves around his 
head, and yet it is more than this by far. It may 
be just that aristocratic breeding which, in spite 
of himself, surrounds him and makes him differ- 
ent from others of more lowly birth ; but if it 
is that, he has it in a larger degree than any of 
Russia's nobility, from the members of the czar's 
household, down. It may be, after all, the exalt- 
edness of the lowly, of which his Master speaks, 

300 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

which one notices ; a strange, spiritual exalted- 
ness which is not akin to the fanaticism of emo- 
tional religionists, but which is great and strong 
and high because it comes from above and has 
its roots deep in the hearts of men. Tolstoy be- 
longs to the few among the great whose glory- 
does not disappear by contact with them ; in fact 
he is greatest and noblest at close range. His 
speech has none of the hardness which rings 
so unpleasantly in his writings, his voice has that 
tender tone which woos and wins one ; and al- 
though it rings out defiantly and definitely it 
never grows harsh from anger or his words bitter 
from hate. He often hurts one by his scrutiny 
because he divines the things one hides from him, 
or detects the falsehoods hidden in one's speech. 
Perhaps the strangest thing about his personality 
is, that one is always under its spell after having 
once come in close touch with it. An important 
witness to this is Mr. Wolganoff, a wealthy mer- 
chant of Moscow, who belongs to the Tolstoy 
circle. " Since I have learned to know him he 
seems always with me, and in all questions of 
life he gives me advice. In moments of spiritual 
exaltation it seems to me as if he were with me, 

301 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and would tell me just what to do, and I have 
the satisfaction of always having done the right 
thing if I follow his advice/' Even those who 
come but to see in him a curiosity go away with 
the touch of that life clinging to them, and more 
than one newspaper reporter, after seeing him, 
has said : " Life seems a different thing now." 
To explain all this one need not fall into any mys- 
tical speculations ; the life of the spirit is the 
powerful life and the attractive life, and wher- 
ever it has genuine expression through a man, 
there men will say : " It has been good for us to 
be here." But it is not a life which exhales the 
perfume of cloistered holiness ; his piety is not 
musty ; he is too human, too active in earth's 
affairs ; he is too much of an iconoclast to waste 
his time in counting beads or mumbling prayers. 
He does more praying doing God's errands than 
many men do upon their knees, begging for grace 
and cake ; and he does it at an expense of time 
and strength which are more and better than fasts 
and long night vigils. By many hours of conver- 
sation with burdened men, and by letters which 
fill pages, he gives advice to the erring, to the 
perplexed, and to the weak. It may seem a trivial 

302 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

example, but to the writer it seems pertinent and 
great because it concerned him at a very critical 
time in life. He came to Yasnaya Polyana, a boy 
with foolish questionings, a stranger without a 
line of introduction, troubled by spiritual burdens ; 
and this man, struggling with great thoughts 
and in the depths of a personal grief, gave him 
hours in which he taught him, and preached to 
him lessons and sermons which lasted through 
life. More than once he gave him letters of intro- 
duction to friends in Russian cities which opened 
doors into other rich lives and made the usually 
unpleasant sojourn there a great delight. This 
was not done from any selfish motive ; this stran- 
ger in common with others had nothing to give, 

— then, not even a pen which might spread his 
praise and increase his fame ; and had Tolstoy 
known that some day he would attempt to do 
this, his treatment might have been less cordial 
and his help less freely offered. Yet the writer is 
aware that but few can have this personal touch 
with him, and that neither this book nor any 
other book can bring it ; the mass of men must 
judge him by his works and his words. His works 

— by that is meant his achievements, outside 

303 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

of the books which he has written — can scarcely 
be called great, nor can they be traced very defi- 
nitely by the historian. Tolstoy has organized 
nothing, established nothing, destroyed nothing, 
built nothing. He could have done a great deal 
even in autocratic Russia ; but he was too much 
concerned with his conscience, with gaining his 
own peace, to accomplish what the world calls great 
things. He had plans for relieving distress among 
men, but he saw the causes too keenly and knew 
that mere philanthropy was only a palliative and 
often did more harm than good. One cannot help 
criticising him severely on this point ; it does look 
as if he had slipped from underneath the burden 
very gracefully ; and it looks like flight, when 
a great deal might have been accomplished. He 
has not enough sympathy with those who try to 
do their little in the world as it is, and who can- 
not go anywhere into the wilderness and organ- 
ize a system of their own. Yet he had to see that 
even with filthy lucre, something can be done 
and that it must and can be used for the saving 
of men. His work of keeping from starvation 
millions of peasants, and doing it in a systematic 
way, ought to have convinced him that there is 

304 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

some good in money and in organized charity. 
Yet to the end he regards money as a curse, and 
is happy when his sons come to him and tell 
him of the cares and sorrows that it brings ; for 
then like any ordinary mortal he can say : " I told 
you so." 

Tolstoy's writings are best characterized by say- 
ing that there is in them an overwhelming desire 
for truthfulness. This explains the simple plot 
of his stories, the naturalness of his characters, 
the absence of artificial tension ; and it explains 
also his realism, which to Anglo-Saxon readers 
is his least desirable quality. He never sacrifices 
truth to form or to good taste ; his stories are 
loosely constructed and broken into by his moral- 
izings which are no doubt tedious to readers who 
are anxious to know whether "they died or were 
married and lived happily ever after." One can- 
not persuade him that he might have preached 
more convincingly by making the sermon less 
apparent. But as he says : " Sometimes one takes 
the pen and writes, 'Early in the morning Ivan 
Nikitsch rose and called his son/ and suddenly 
one says to himself : 'Old man, why are you ly- 
ing ? you don't even know such a man as Ivan 

30s 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

Nikitsch.' " He abandoned the story only to 
return to it ; and even now he is writing one in 
a reminiscent mood, dealing with his life in the 
Caucasus. When at the completion of his labors 
his memoirs are written, the critic, whether he 
prizes them or not, will be able to say of them, 
in the words of Tolstoy himself : " The hero of 
his stories, whom he loved with all his heart, 
whom he tried to represent in all his beauty, 
and who always was and will remain beautiful, 
was — Truth." 

A word remains to be said about his theology. 
" God is his father, all men are his brethren." 
This is the whole of his theological and socio- 
logical creed. He tried hard to be an agnostic, 
and agree with Confucianists, Buddhists, and 
atheists, and never consider the conception of 
God. "But suddenly," he says, "I grew to be 
lonesome and fearful, I did not know why ; but 
I began to realize that I was spiritually degen- 
erating because I was drifting away from God. 
I began to think how strange it is to say whether 
there is a God or not ; and then it seemed as if I 
had found him anew. I feared that this assurance 
might leave me, might grow dull; the main 

306 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

feature of this feeling is that it gives one the 
consciousness of absolute security, the knowledge 
that God exists, that he is good, that he knows 
one, that I am part of him, — one of his chil- 
dren." Tolstoy is an agnostic in regard to the 
person of Jesus. It does not matter to him who 
he was, whether God or man ; but his word was 
divine, it was the law of God revealed through 
Jesus, and in that he has implicit faith ; greater 
faith than most of us who know all about Christ's 
miraculous conception and who worship him as 
God. Tolstoy has faith enough to believe that 
his faith is true, to take upon himself the conse- 
quences of it, and to believe in Christ's ultimate 
triumph. This is what he says : " One more 
effort and the Galilean will conquer ; not in that 
terrible sense in which the heathen emperor 
prophesied his conquest ; but in the true sense in 
which he said of himself that he had ' overcome 
the world/ He will conquer in that simple and 
reasonable way, that if we have the courage to 
confess Him, soon all those persecutions which 
come upon his followers will cease ; then there 
will be neither prison nor gallows, neither war 
nor burning, neither poverty nor beggary, under- 

307 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

neath which the Christian world is now groan- 
ing." 

Tolstoy has brought that glorious time down 
to himself ; he is not tortured by fear of prison, 
of sickness, or of death ; he is living in the mil- 
lennium and he says that we also may live so 
if we let the Kingdom of God come into our 
hearts. May I in closing repeat what I said 
four years ago, after a close look into his life ? 
" No ; he is not the Christ, but he is a John the 
Baptist ; his gospel is written on the tablets of 
Moses ; his beatitudes have in them the ring of 
the Ten Commandments. They were graven by 
the finger of Jehovah, not spoken by the gentle 
Jesus. But his way of preaching the gospel 
reaches where our way does not reach ; his gospel 
reaches the lowest, and brings the greatest low. 
It is a gospel which cannot be misunderstood ; 
it is as clear as noonday. It is a gospel which 
rouses in man the will, which awakens the soul, 
and lifts it from its slumber or sloth to a large 
life and to heroic service. God needs such men 
in this His day — large men who live above the 
fog ; great men, ready to sacrifice for righteous- 
ness' sake. There are too few who do not hedge 

308 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

and halt and temporize, who dare to bear the 
brunt ; too many time-servers, dust-lickers, who 
grow like mushrooms in the shade, and die like 
morning-glories in the broad sunlight ; too few 
of us who believe that the gospel is for this 
time and forever, and who are willing that the 
Kingdom of God should come within us. This 
is Tolstoy's great cry : i The Kingdom of God is 
within you, and you are to be the pattern after 
which the kingdom of this world is to fashion 
itself.' 'Young man,' he said, and they were 
almost the last words which he spoke to me that 
evening: 'you sweat too much blood for the 
world ; sweat some for yourself first. You can- 
not make the world better till you are better/ 
I have seen many a mountain, — and I love 
them all, — the Jungfrau in her chastity, Mont 
Blanc with his icy collar, the Monk, hooded and 
shrouded, — but there is one rock standing alone 
above the village of Zermatt, bride of the sky, 
mother of life-giving waters, now shrouded in 
mystic clouds, now sharp and clear, standing 
between earth and heaven. It is the solitary 
Matterhorn which I love best. The Matterhorn 
among the great is Tolstoy. I still feel resting 

309 



TOLSTOY THE MAN 

upon me those eyes with their life-giving 
warmth ; I still hear the mellow voice which 
persistently but lovingly said : ' Young man, you 
cannot make the world better until you are 
better ; ' and then I said : ' Good-night/ I may 
never again say to him ' Good-night/ but I trust 
that I shall say, ' Good-morning/ " 



310 



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